The Dawn of Dragons
by Axton Zavac
Summary: Once, there were four schools of Witchers who knew no equal. The Dragon school, the Cat school, the Griffon school, and the Bear school. These schools of Witchers produced not Mutants, but pure-born Wiedźmin's. Of all the schools, only a single Witcher remains in the land of the living. Valens Tulkas Stormborn.
1. Prologue

**AN: Bit of backstory:**

 **Valens Tulkas Stormborn is the last remaining vestigial fragment belonging to the Dragonlords of the Sky-reaching Peaks, which remain to be the grandest spires of rock and ice to pierce the clouds above the Blue Mountains; serving as the impenetrable abode of the Draconian** **Wiedźmins. Alongside the Dragons, only three known schools of prestigious note possessed the innately born mutations of Witchers, passed down through generations of fertile Witchmen.**

 **The School of the Whispering claws, the shrouded dusk that cuts away light. The Cat School.**

 **The Warlocks of the Aedirnian Valleys, those who need no blade to cull the tides of chaos. The Griffin School.**

 **And finally the Beast lords of the Northern gales, the stalwart might which crashes defiantly against all. The Bear School.**

 **All have fallen, all have faded into nothingness; their teachings, their crafts and ideals lost to the eroding force of time.**

 **The Last of the Bears, had warred against the Last of the Dragons; extinguishing both lives and leaving the infantile Valens to rise from the ashes; in utter desolation and solitude. However, the Dragon-blood was unyielding, unfazed, unbroken...**

 **Valens flourished in amidst the tithes of alienation, the Hallowed halls of the Dragonlords gave birth to the one who would walk the forgotten path of Force and Fire, of Blood and Silver.**

 **The Last Dragonlord** **had taken to sea, determined to aid the Wolves of Kaer Morhen in their desperate bid to reclaim their ashen pup; the young girl who had somehow managed to warm the cold fire that burned forever more within his heart with nary a smile. Valens had dove into the bowels of the Worlds, a maelstrom that dominated a blackened sea capable of swallowing entire lands; and found himself adrift in the soul-laden waters of Drangleic. Where he found nought but misery, hopelessness and a futile resilience against a darkness so abyssal that it threatened to swallow the sun above.**

 **Whilst there, he found nothing but remnants and an old cursed Knight who had fallen to the dark whose burden he had forced upon himself, in a moment of what he could not deny being true sympathy.**

 **The rest is Witcher shit, you should be able to make the connections.**

Read this! If nothing else...

\- "Talking"

\- **"Powerful entity talking"**

\- _'Thinking'_

 _\- ' **Powerful entity thinking'**_

* * *

" _He was the last of the dragon blood; an offspring belonging of the sky-lords, within his heart laid the souls of the greatest Witcher's ever to walk the earth. The school of fire and force will be his abode, a being of wisdom and divine intensity will be his Master. Say grace thus upon him, for Dragonlord Valens sheds no tear on his arrival."_

\- Francesca Findabair heralding the birth of Valens Tulkas Stormborn after a violent arcane vision, who was at the time the last Witcher from the Dragon school.

* * *

" **Where will you go now? You have aided the White wolf on his many quests, you have lifted the curse on Bohdvin, you have returned from your journey across the sea. To where did you go again, my son, remind me."**

Valens shrugged his shoulders loosely as they seemed fit to remind him of his battle with the cursed Azure Knight. "Drangleic… I went to Drangleic."

" **Did you find what you seek?"**

The Dragon Witcher shook his head slowly, "No, Master."

A deep grumble could be heard throughout the cathedral-like cave they were standing in. " **Forgive me, child. The wind gestured strongly towards the cursed place."**

Valens shook his head, "Not your fault, they were there. But left before I got to them."

" **The Wild Hunt, such a nuisance. Hmm, tell me, how long has it been since you set out to find… Her?"**

"I… Please, I do not wish to speak of this." Valens tensed slightly as a deep anger began to brew within him.

" **How long?"** It was more of a statement than a question at this point.

The golden eyed Witcher sighed as the anger was replaced by sorrow. "Three years."

" **And for three years, you hauled along your burden of regret, anger, sorrow and hatred. For three years you haven't slept, three years and you have never stopped fighting."**

Valens' posture jerked upright as he shot a glare into the darkness. The being in the shadows snorted softly. **"Of course I know. You are of my blood, I can feel your emotions, I can hear your soul churn in mourning. I know the pain of Love, child. How could I not? I lost you to the abyss for thirty years."**

The Dragon Witcher felt his resolve crumble before letting out a long, frustrated growl. "You're right, moon after moon, nightmares plague me. The abyss taunts me, the Azure Knight said that it was unrelenting when I freed him and took his burden upon myself, but without _her_ … It's become nigh unbearable." He growled again, lowly and desperately. "I miss her terribly, this place…" Valens gestured to his chest. "It feels like someone is driving a hot blade into it, over and over again."

Valens turned and began to pace in anger, idly twirling a knife for the sheer purpose of keeping his hands occupied as he walked back and forth. "I've mastered my training, I've passed the trial of Demons, I've travelled for eternity across a sea to a place that knows nothing but sorrow, and yet, I still couldn't free her of her curse, I still feel lost. What is my purpose here, Master? What do I do?"

" **Hmm, there is a war brewing. I mean not the war of men, Valens, but the war of worlds."** Valens' head snapped up at this, he stared into the large, glowing eyes that shone out from the darkness from across the cavern. **"There is nothing for you here, besides some old scales and dusty walls. Go to Kaer Morhen, our brethren, the Wolven school. The White Wolf will not allow his child to remain alone for long. Maybe your search will fare better with him, just know that not every burden is yours to bear.**

Valens stopped pacing and stared into the darkness once more. "Is this your wish? I had thought you wanted me to stay by your side."

The deep, gravelly voice chuckled softly. **"I did."**

"And?"

" **The quest I dote upon you holds more importance than an old Dragon's wishes. Go, my son. And return to me with more tales to tell, I wish to know all about this adventure. And, I wish to meet this young female, I will judge her worthiness."**

Out of the darkness, a massive, vermillion coloured Dragon stepped forwards into the light of the nearby braziers. His angular head was large and weathered, the leather of his hide tough and scarred, the result of years of travel and battle. Curling his wings in closer to his flanks, the old Dragon's golden, slated eyes stared into Valens' golden slitted ones. The Dragon Witcher grinned at the sight of his mentor, his canines gleaming in the light of the braziers. "She would have loved you. The grumpy, old, lovable hunk of meat that you are."

The great dragon scoffed, a small sprout of smoke puffed out from his nose and into Valens' mouth, making the raven haired man cough. **"Get out of here youngling, before I torch you."** Despite its words, the old Dragon's eyes were filled with warmth.

Valens waved away the smoke on got on one knee before bowing his head, "Farewell Master, I'll be sure to bring you a gift."

" **Hmm, make sure you do."**

With a small smile, Valens turned and swiftly exited the cavern. Heading towards the Keep atop the mountain where the once mighty school had trained the greatest Witchers ever to live.

* * *

Valens sighed as a pleasant burning feeling enveloped his entire left arm from fingertips to shoulder, within seconds, his entire left arm was enveloped in matt black, scaled gauntlet. The wasn't a single seam or joint in sight, and despite this, it still seemed to move perfectly with Valens' actions. A gift from the legendary sorcerer smith, Bras of Ban Ard. The runes engraved into his skin acted like a storage seal containing the gauntlet he wore now, the aptly named Dragon's reach. Stepping into the view of the mirror, Valens grunted at his appearance.

He had donned the Warrior's leather ring mail that he had Bras also craft for him. It was similar to the armour of Kaer Morhen, which was why he had chosen it. The armour was light, so he could move as needed and it was sturdy enough to halt a swing or two from a sword or axe. No coifs or loose pieces that could get tangled up either besides the enchanted cowl woven into it. For his bottoms he wore black, silk hunting trousers tucked into stag velvet riding boots that came up to his knees, more for comfort and charm than protection. Strapped tightly to the back of his hip was a large saxe knife, and slung over his back was a two-handed Dane battleaxe. The shaft was made of turned meteorite and tungsten, while the single head on it was made of dragon forged dark steel. The edge was made from pure silver as well as the spike that protruded from the other side of the shaft, silver, in order to deal with the more ghastly of enemies. It was beautiful, top heavy, and brutally efficient, a stark contrast from the usual two sword get-up that most Witchers favoured.

Shifting his trusty axe around on his back, Valens exited the armoury and stalked through the ghostly silent keep. Even though he knew better, he could feel eyes on him, staring at him as he made his way out. It has been said that every Dragonlord ever to fall in battle returned to the heavens, to reside with Dragons and watch over the current Dragonlords still trudging their way through life. But nowhere was the feeling more pronounced than here, in a sanctuary of Witchers.

In the courtyard, among the gaze of the dead, his horse waited for him. Rounding a corner into the wide-open area, Valens palmed his face in disbelief, laced with a healthy amount of amusement. His trusty steed was prancing around, throwing clouds of snow and dirt into the air as it chased and snapped at the snowflakes falling from the sky. "Tug! Come here, you buffoon."

The horse in question seemingly froze, then spun around and cantered towards its master, only to deliver Valens a hearty head-butt. The Witcher growled as he massaged his forehead, glaring at the playful horse, he flicked its nose in retaliation. "Stop being a moron, let's go, we've a long ride ahead of us."

Tug cocked his head to the side slightly, as if asking a question. _"We're leaving so soon?"_ He seemed to say.

"Yeah, something's come up." Valens stroked the dark grey horse's nose in a familiar fashion before shaking his head clear of thoughts and hauling himself up into the saddle with experienced finesse. Taking hold of the reins in one hand, he nudged Tug's side ever so gently with his knee. The lean animal responded instantly as he began to plod softly forwards.

Valens took in the once mighty stone walls of the Dragon school before sighing. _'How the mighty have fallen.'_ He mused quietly within his mind.

Tug snorted quietly and shook his mane, _"You wouldn't have fit in at all here if that was the case."_

Valens smirked, his melancholy mood slowly evaporating thanks to his best friend's effort to cheer him up. "Piss off, Tug." The horse just snorted again in response.

With a twitch of the reins, Tug turned and began to pace out of the keep and down the long, windy path that would see them away from the Mountains of the Dragon School.


	2. The Hunt begins

**AN:** _Wiedźmin_ **Means Witcher in Polish. Probably should have clarified beforehand, my apologies. Also, sorry for the long update. Got caught up by a few things from my past, I hope you forgive me for not enlightening you all as to what these 'things' were.**

* * *

" _What sort of angel lays waste to sin? None. For angels need not commit such acts. The task is delegated to the fiends we know as demons. For what reason have we to label them as such? Those who punish the evil. Where ar't thou heard of demons attacking the innocent? Nowhere, for no being is innocent. They punish whatever they can, for every man and woman deserves justice, we_ _ **all**_ _must repent."_

Prophecy of the eternal fire-

* * *

 **Kaedwen, Gwenllech...**

Valens snorted in slight irritation as he strode out of the stronghold of Kaer Morhen; he had entered expecting to find Geralt, or at least Vesemir; the Old wolf who could point him in the right direction. Instead he found only the wise and ever-calm Witcher Eskel and the ever vulgar Witcher Lambert. It was only fate that led to Valens shoving his fist down Lambert's throat, he felt bad afterwards of course. Not for Lambert, but for Eskel. He had apologised profusely to the senior monster hunter, for it was now the scarred Witcher's job to care for his unconscious friend. Not the most graceful of moves on his part, Valens had to admit. But damn did it feel good.

Walking down the path that led to Kaer Morhen, Valens let out a shrill whistle, leading to the arrival of Tug who walked out from the brushes several hundred feet ahead of him. Saddling up, the Witcher just barely brushed his heel against Tug's flank; and the horse reacted instantly like an arrow shot from a bow, accelerating from a dead standstill to a loose canter.

Tug turned his head slightly to the side to look at his master. _'They aren't there?'_ He seemed to say.

Valens shook his head, "They left a few weeks ago, down the Fish's road to White Orchard"

Tug snorted in amusement. _'Lemme get em', I can catch them quicker than you can drive off the opposite sex from you bedchambers.'_

Valens glared at Tug for a moment before shrugging and nestling down lower across Tug's neck. "Don't strain yourself." He chided. The horse merely rolled its eyes in response as the strolling countryside turned into blur as Tug shifted gears. Valens felt a rush of euphoria stream through his body as Tug practically flew down the road, he had never gotten used to sheer speed Tug possessed, and how he could keep up such a pace for so long baffled him. If the Dragon Witcher didn't know any better, he would be checking Tug's eyes every so often to make sure the horse wasn't actually a mutant itself.

They made sure to pace themselves, a long period of galloping followed by Valens dismounting and walking while Tug caught his breath. It was their standard marching pace that put even the Royal Ranger corps in Nilfguaard to utter shame.

* * *

 **One week later...**

The golden eyed Wiedźmin sighed tiredly as he dismounted from Tug's back, despite having galloped the final stretch, the horse looked only winded. Patting Tug on the nose appreciatively, he took hold of the reins in one hand and led him within the small, fenced off compound of local inn. _'White Orchard, huh? A laidback place if there ever was one.'_ Valens mused. He didn't bother to tether his horse to the post, instead the Witcher mere draped the reins across the post and began to rub down his horse with the brush provided in the nearby stable. It would be no good to leave Tug all sweaty and matted, especially with the cool northern wind blowing. Hypothermia was no joke.

Finished caring for his horse, Valens shrugged his axe over his shoulder onto his back and entered the modest looking inn they had stopped outside of. The inn was always the best place to pick up information, farmers dosed with a bit of drink tended to chatter like fish maidens, and two Witchers passing through on horseback would definitely be something to talk about in their dull lives.

Opening the door slightly and slipping through, Valens swiftly made his way to the barkeep, who happened to be a woman tending to a tankard with a grubby cloth, looking as if she was putting more filth onto the tankard then she was removing. As he went, his golden eyes zipped around like lightning, taking the barest fraction of a second to take in his surroundings.

' _Four farmers at the back, they look tired. No trouble from them. Very drunk women on the table close to the bar, information will easily be attained from them if need be. A whore near the back door, one of those sneaky types who come up to you instead of the other way around, most likely a criminal or pickpocket. And… thank Titanite's tits, that's good old Vesemir playing Gwent with some merchant, I know he's seen me, that man misses nothing.- Beware of an old man in a profession where men die young…- Where did I hear that again?'_

Finished with his observation, Valens took a seat on one of the stools at the bar. He observed the barkeep, who was watching him wearily. Normally, women like this, deprived of young men would melt under a little bit of charm or sex appeal, but she looked very weathered and submissive. There would be no need for any persuasion to get her talking.

"It's a dark night and the wind is cold." Valens remarked innocently.

The women nodded, still weary of his high-grade weapons and armour. " Aye, tis' what's your point, mi' Lord?"

Valens smiled at her, his canines gleaming in the light cast from the torches. It was an honest smile, devoid of negativity. The barkeep felt her hostility slip a little, even though she knew she should be weary. Those teeth screamed "monster!", but his smile sang of warmth. "I would like your strongest drink, if you would please. To warm me up."

The barkeep looked at him for a second before shrugging and placing down the tankard she was holding, though quickly swapped it for a fresh one at Valens' warning glance. She poured some Dwarven fire-lash into the glass, and moved to dilute the brutal looking liquid with water when the newcomer suddenly held up his hand. He brought it to his mouth and sniffed at it before downing the liquid in one go.

She suppressed a smirk, "That's going to hurt in a few seconds, mi' Lord."

Valens stared pointedly at her for nearly a minute before shrugging. "Two full glasses please."

She looked at him incredulously before muttering to herself as she acquiesced with his request. She set them down in front of him and leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. "So… what bring you here young man?" she asked.

Valens looked at her and shrugged. "I'm a mercenary; I fight for either side of the war at the right price. But… the demand these days exceeds the supply I'm afraid." His tone was weathered as he spoke to her, eyes cast down into his drink.

She nodded knowingly, before looking up sharply. "You didn't fight for Nilfguaard in Velen, did ya?" She asked guardedly.

Valens shook his head. "I'm being assaulted with requests, I don't know who to pick."

She looked at him sympathetically before shaking her head. "Shouldn't pick neither mi Lord, bad times to be pickin' sides righ' now."

Valens looked up at her smiled bravely, "Aye, I suppose your right… So, any news you want to share with a fellow wretched soul? Juicy rumours going around and the like?"

The women leaned in closer, her dank breath making Valens want to heave. "Aye mi' Lord. See that man over yonder? He's a Witcher! Nice man, but his partner, long, white haired Witcher is a right git. Killed two men right ere', nearly got the place burned down." She whispered, as if in fear of the man hearing her.

Valens leaned back slightly in surprise. "I was actually going to go ask for a job from the old man…" He said gesturing to his other drink he had ordered. "Doesn't change my mind though, where's the other man? The one who killed those people?"

She shrugged. "Left some time ago, looking for work me's guessing. If you're gonna talk to the old man, you need to be careful. A couple of men sat down with him, bandits I think. They left holding them's sides, I saw blood on them's fingers! Sure of it."

Valens nodded wearily and stood, "Aye, but, a man needs to eat right? I'll talk to you later ma'am."

Valens hurriedly got up, took his drinks and moved toward Vesemir. The woman stank like a stable, _'These filthy curs need to wash themselves once in a while, or so help me god.'_

He growled slightly as he slumped down next to the elderly Wolf Witcher, who was calmly scanning his cards as the merchant opposite him seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "Nice to see you again my lad, I'm hoping that's for me…" Vesemir asked, gesturing to the other drink in Valens' hand.

The Dragon Witcher nodded and placed it in front of the elderly man, "Forgive me gramps, still trying to get this fucking stench out of my nose. She smells like an all men's bath-house that had run out of water years ago."

Vesemir chuckled softly before laying down a card, nullifying the entire line of heavy infantry the merchant had built up, and thus winning the game. Resulting in the man letting out a shout of despair and storming out as Vesemir collecting his cards for himself.

"Aye, she happily pays a sexual fee to bandits living around town in order for her safeguard. I'd wager that's the cause of your little difficulty." Vesemir stated while taking a sip of his spirits.

Valens' meanwhile blanched and choked on his drink, a healthy blush creeping up his cheeks. "That's despicable…"

"Aye."

Valens shifted uncomfortably; Vesemir was too calm all the time. It was infuriating; nothing seemed to faze the man. "I don't see Geralt, you don't happen to know where he is would you?"

Vesemir nodded as he sorted out his Gwent deck. "Of course, but the question is, why do you need to find him?"

Valens fell silent for a moment, drawing Vesemir's attention. He looked up again and sighed before answering. "I'm looking for Ciri…"

Vesemir hummed thoughtfully as he placed his cards down, his attention now fully on Valens. "How fared your journey across the sea to cure her of the curse?"

Valens shook his head, anger began to well up inside of him as he remembered the failed endeavour. "I botched it. I was too late, took too long in getting there, too long in deciphering the riddles. The Hunter's took the knowledge of the curse and either used it to their own advantage or destroyed it. I haven't the faintest clue."

Vesemir hummed again, returning to his cards he withdrew a map and placed it in front of Valens. "Geralt is meeting with the Nilfguaardian's, in an effort to learn about Yennefer." Vesemir stated. "The map should help you get there."

Valens nodded and stood as he observed the map. Vesemir raised an eyebrow at him as he did so. "You're going now? The darkness conceals many horrors you know?"

Valens grinned at him, his golden eyes flashed as the fire illuminated them. "And I'm one of them. I'll be seeing you old man."

Vesemir chuckled and nodded at him. "Very well, stay safe and farewell."

Exiting the inn, Valens jumped onto Tug's back in one motion and pulled the reins free from the post. Nudging Tug with his knee, Tug turned and began to clop down the road out of White Orchard's town.

" _Find em'?"_

Valens nodded. "The old man was inside, we'll pace our surrounding as we go, I want to get there at sunrise."

" _Sunrise is ages away…"_ Tug whined.

Valens grinned and played with Tug's mane idly, "Uh huh, so we'll enjoy the scenery as we go."

Tug just snorted in response.

* * *

 **AN: Sorry about the short chapter, I just wanted to let you know that I'm not dead, and still writing. Others will be much longer.**


	3. Beast of White Orchard

**AN: From here on, things start to get intense. This is where the story earns it M-rating, and it only gets worse after that. Times like these were… There's no other way to say it. They were disgusting. Rape, torture, humiliation, racism, these were the MINOR offences of this universe. If you cannot cope with any of these, than I suggest you drop this story. This chapter will be very light in contrast of the later chapters, but it is there, so know that you have been warned.**

 **Please leave a review, I _love_ hearing your kind words, it gives me a massive surge of excitement towards writing another chapter. I also appreciate criticism a great deal, be as harsh as you want, I have quite the tough hide. You find something doesn't work? Doesn't make sense? Errors? Tell me about it, I'll fix it if it is a problem and will commend you for your keen eye.**

* * *

" _The blood of man is a sacred thing. Made of elements that we did not even know existed in older ages. When it is spilled, we fear weakness, we fear death; we fear pain. But we shouldn't. We should welcome these fears, embrace them even. For if we feared them not; then we would since label ourselves as the demons we hold at distance today. Embrace your humanity, for it is last thing we hold dear."_

* * *

 **White Orchard, Wilderness…**

Valens hissed as blood seeped through his fingers. "Stupid, fucking, piece of shit. God I'm getting rusty!" The dragon Witcher shouted in annoyed fashion. He knew it wasn't true, his skills were as sharp as ever, but mind had been elsewhere. Shameful for a Wiedźmin; for a being that possessed superior mental and physical capabilities than those around him, there should be no excuse.

Tug seemed to agree as he snorted haughtily from his place behind Valens.

The wounded ghoul across from him made a last ditched effort to kill the strange eyed man and avenge its fallen brethren. Charging the small distance between the two on all fours, the ghoul leapt up and attacked, swiping its clawed, half-dead arm towards the Witcher… Only to have it caught in mid-air, broken with a forearm strike to the necrophage equivalent of a radius, and then used as leverage to swing the creature into the ground neck first. The velocity of the ghouls charge and the strength rippling through Valens' muscles bolstered the power of the throw, caving the ghoul's skull in on impact while simultaneously pushing it down into its own spine. Leaving the hard-packed earth cracked with the sheer amount of kinetic energy.

Valens took out a linen rag and wiped the blood away from his hands and clothes while eyeing his own handiwork appreciatively. Craning his neck to examine his injury, he pursed his lips and shrugged indifferently, _'Seems I see more and more of my own blood these days…'_

It wasn't deep, well, by _Witcher standards_ it wasn't deep. Thus no specific treatment was needed besides shoving a wad of cloth into it to soak up the blood, the rest would heal on its own after several minutes. "I still don't understand why my toxicity resistance is so low. I can't take a damn swallow potion without seeing green, and anything after that I'll probably be bedridden. How irritating." Valens muttered to himself as he hoisted himself up onto Tug's back.

He shifted his buttocks around in the saddle as Tug automatically started walking forwards towards the encampment, already aware of their destination.

It wasn't hard to find the Nilfguaardian garrison, their black and yellow banners were strewn everywhere, leaving a little bread trail of sorts straight to their main camp. Upon approaching the gate, one of the guards held up a hand and told him to stop and state his business. He urged Tug forwards a few more paces just to solidify his presence before doing as asked.

"I am Valens, the Dragon Witcher." He stated in a gravelly tone, while inclining his head in the slightest of nods.

One of the soldiers nearly dropped his spear in shock before regaining himself and standing at attention once more. To his credit, the gate captain only looked uncertain before sticking to the guard code. Ask who, ask where, ask why, and ask if they have clearance.

Valens had checked nearly all the boxes with a single sentence; the only thing left was…

"Why have you come here? Black Witcher?"

Valens hid a grimace at the title; of course it was supposed to be one of respect, for he had emerged victorious from the Emperors great hall scorched black with soot and charcoal from the burning inferno that had consumed it. But he had witnessed many innocent deaths that day to the hands of an ambassador who had lost sight of the paved path to heaven he once so cherished. Power was such a dreadful, corruptive thing.

Valens realised that he had been standing there for quite some time, simply staring into nothingness as his dark aura began to seep through his skin, unsettling the poor soldiers by the gate. Reeling himself back to the present, he smirked at the gate captain. "I'm looking for Geralt of Rivia, I was told he visited not too long ago?"

The gate captain nodded, happy that the strange Witcher was no longer snarling at him. "Yes, my lord. He left late in the night, the Commander will know more. You may enter to see him; one of these gentlemen will escort you."

Valens nodded, "Would you prefer me to dismount?" He asked, simply out of courtesy. The captain was just a soldier, doing his job. He was old, grizzled, and given a shitty gate guarding position for all his hard years of service. No harm in being kind.

The captain bowed respectfully at the waist, "I thank you for not making me ask, my lord."

Valens nodded and swiftly dismounted, he then grabbed the reins and gave tug a playful slap on the shoulder, making the horse roll its eyes at him and trot away to graze in the fields. At his escorts questioning look, Valens shrugged, "He's trained to come at a moment's notice."

The man-at-arms nodded before swallowing, he chanced a peek at Valens and saw that the handsome Witcher was staring straight ahead as they walked through the gates of the encampment. He opened his mouth to speak, before closing it hurriedly. Better not to irritate the man.

"One question."

He jumped slightly at the sudden noise, "I'm sorry, my lord?"

Valens swung his golden gaze onto him, "Whatever you wanted to say, say it. But no more."

The man nodded firmly before turning his head to look back at the way they had come, "I-is that a Zerrikanian smoke-trotter, my lord?"

Valens chuckled appreciatively. "Yes, my good man, it is. And yes, he is faster than anything I've ever seen... You're fond of horses are you?"

The man smiled genuinely, and it was only here that Valens saw that this man was no man. He was just a boy, seventeen years of age or so. "Y-yes sir-, I mean my lord!" He hastily amended, only to relax as he saw Valens warm smile, "My father owns a horse ranch, but, we were too poor to part with one when I was conscripted, so I'm stuck on gate-duty until I prove my worth." He muttered degradingly.

Valens sighed tiredly at this. "You say that like it's a bad thing." At the man's frown he explicated. "You should never be eager to take a life; you won't be, certainly not in the heat of battle. It's not when you kill, do you prove your worth. It's when you know you can, and yet you don't. That is true nobility."

The man-at-arms stared at him for a moment before nodding, he glanced up and spoke in a small voice, as if the Witcher might not hear him even as he said it. "But you're a Witcher, how can you say such things?"

Valens laughed at this, but it was without mirth. "We have our own breed of nightmares, young soldier. And it manifests in ways you can never imagine… I presume this is our stop?"

The man twitched slightly in surprise and looked up, they were in front of the commander's study, which was simply a broken, two story bell tower that had been fortified. The Witcher had led _him,_ instead of _him_ leading the _Witcher._

He turned to thank the peculiar monster hunter for his words when he found that the Witcher had disappeared.

" _Click!"_

Turning, he saw the latch on the door of the bell tower softly click into place. Shivering slightly as his spine tingled, the soldier turned heel and nearly jogged back to the gate in his haste. _"I had completely forgotten I had been talking to the Black Witcher… THE Black Witcher. But the words he uttered, papa said nearly the same thing…"_

* * *

Swiftly entering the room, Valens immediately evaluated his surroundings and the man currently seated behind the desk, scribbling onto some ledgers. The room was Spartan, only the items of need were inside, the bare minimum. This was an efficient man.

The man himself was gruff looking, obviously of noble birth, yet he had scars on his face. Depicting either experience, or that he didn't like to duck very much. Either way, he knew how to lead as both paths lead to the same conclusion, he would have to be on the front-lines to receive scars like that, meaning that he was a capable commander. He was also adorned in full, generals plate armour, tough, likely crafted from sinner's steel, but even then it would never be able to stop his axe.

The man looked up, a small glint of surprise entered his eyes as he noticed Valens for the first time. Witchers were notoriously sneaky, and Valens was no exception. He stood slowly, a small frown marring his scarred features.

"Have you come here with good intentions, or bad, Witcher?" He asked, his tone weathered, and carefully level.

Valens shrugged, "If it was bad, Commander. You would know by now, besides, I walked through the front door."

The Commander's frown deepened at this. "It might serve you well to make your presence known before-hand Witcher. Others may not be so calm in the face of surprise, especially if the surprise is someone as notorious as you." He advised meaningfully.

Valens shrugged again in response and walked forward, extending his hand, he dipped his head in the slightest of inclinations. "Valens, Dragon Witcher, though you already seem to know me."

The Commander took his hand and shook it firmly, "Affirmative, you made quite a stir back at the capital. Many know your name nowadays. Commander Rilyne, why are you here, Black Witcher?" He asked.

Valens placed his hands behind his back and locked gazes with the Commander. "I am seeking Geralt of Rivia, I heard he left early in the last night. Where did you send him?"

The Commander hummed in thought before sitting down in his chair. "Why do you seek him?"

Valens shrugged, "My reasons are my own, I mean no harm to him if that's what you're worried about. But I will say no more."

Commander Rilyne frowned, "He is completing a task for me, however, I find you lack of forthcoming unsettling." He admitted, his eyes gave away nothing.

Valens grunted gruffly in response, "That's unfortunate. Still, my inquiry remains the same, I might even assist Geralt in the given task, free of charge."

The Commander leaned back in his chair and sighed, "Do you not understand the hierarchy of order in the military? You don't get to make demands of me, Witcher." He said this in a neutral tone.

Valens laughed mirthlessly, "I'm not a part of your military, Commander Rilyne. That hierarchy means shite to me." Valens stated in an amused tone, at Rilyne's deepening frown, Valens stalked forwards to the edge of the table. His manner darkening immensely; immediately putting the other man into a state of unease. "I will ask one more time, give me the location of Geralt of Rivia. I wish not to burn this entire garrison to the ground just to make a statement, I will give you this one chance."

The Commander, much to his credit stood up, anger marring his features, yet Valens could see the fear that swam beneath his skin. "You dare threaten me?" He whispered lowly. Valens merely glared at him, the muscles in his neck tightened as he made displeasure known. The Commander scoffed angily and turned to stare out across the fields. "The missive with the ribbon. It's a report from a soldier, it will lead you to the man you seek. Now leave me, before I change my mind and have you hung."

Valens snorted in derision, they both knew it was a hollow threat. Scooping up the missive, the Witcher turned on his heel and left. Soundlessly.

The Commander grimaced before re-settling his features. He inhaled deeply and spun around, "Did I not tell you to LEAV- " He began before stopping abruptly. The Black Witcher had already left, he had been shouting at nothing.

"Blasted Mutants…"

 **Meanwhile…**

Valens frowned as he observed the report a soldier had written up. It spoke of a great beast, a cross between a lion and vulture attacking patrols in the eastern ranges past White Orchard town. _'Likely a species of Griffin, I would say a Royal or Dark griffin. Dangerous beasts, resistant to most types of magic as well.'_

Shaking his wild mane of jet black hair, Valens exit the camp and saddled up. Tug would see him to his destination within a dozen or so minutes; maybe he would also find Geralt…

* * *

Valens wrinkled his nose slightly as he took in the stench of rotting carcasses and blood. He was on the main path into the forest, and naught a hundred or so paces in, he came across a fork in the road, old blood stained the ground brown and there were still intestines looped around broken stumps of trees. An animal attack for sure, the odds of it being the griffin were high.

He didn't need to dismount to catch a distinct set of prints on the loosely packed ground. The prints travelled directly and with a perfect precision to and from different anomalies, someone who definitely knew what they were doing had already examined the attack site. There were only two people in the area who had the skills necessary, and one was back in town, robbing people in games of Gwent.

Following Geralt's prints through the forest, which was tricky as the Witcher was extremely light-footed. Soon enough, he came across a large clearing with a high rocky outcropping overlooking the decidedly beautiful fields of White Orchard. _'Ah, the griffin's nest, of course Geralt found it.'_

Urging Tug forwards, the lean horse expertly navigated up the outcropping and clopped up onto the plateau. The sight that greeted him didn't surprise him.

A griffin of some sorts was splayed calamitously across its own nest, sword wounds had gouged deep wounds into its neck. The attacker had made to place his/her blade underneath the tough feathers before thrusting into the neck, they had likely done so during the beast's slumber. Observing the ring of light coloured feathers around the beast's neck proved that it was female. This wasn't Geralt's work, the wounds were at least a week or so old, and rot had already began to settle in.

The thick shaft and dense barbs told Valens that the beast was indeed a Royal griffin, it wasn't old, only ten or eleven years of age. The likely culprit of her death hinted strongly towards the Nilfguaardian's; and now they were paying the price, in the way of the female's mate exacting vengeance. "Pitiful work, they missed both the external jugular veins and the carotid arteries. She must have died in agony." Shaking his head sadly, Valens raised his hand and made a strange gesture with his fingers, and not a second later, fire streamed out from the circle he made with his fore-finger and thumb. The Royal griffin burned up quickly, the magical protection of the griffin's hide had long since died, and the oil that seeped out of its feathers lit easily. "Better not to leave valuable resources for those with ill intent." He stated solemnly, Tug seemed to agree and turned around, eager to get his sensitive nose away from the smell of burning flesh.

Valens guessed that Geralt wasn't fool enough to bear up against the griffin ill-prepared and ill-advised, he would first go to Vesemir for advice.

It would be a long ride back to town…

* * *

 **Nearing sundown...**

Valens shook his wild mane of jet black hair around as he entered the town, if someone had been paying attention to the pair of horse and Witcher, they would realise that both man and beast… or beast and beast had subconsciously done the same thing at the same exact time. Coincidence? Maybe…

Valens found himself slightly anxious to once again meet with the legendary Witcher, of course they had saved each other's lives enough times to warrant a damned marriage, but he hadn't seen the white-haired Witcher in years. Also, his relationship with Cirilla made things questionable between Geralt and himself, as the white wolf considered Ciri as his own daughter…

Pursing his lips, Valens shrugged indifferently. _'Whatever happens; happens. If he doesn't approve of me being with Ciri, then he's out of luck. He can fight me if he likes, but we'll probably both walk away sore as all hell.'_

Tug nickered loudly in amusement, _"Ol' Whitey will kick your ass."_

Valens frowned and pulled a single hair out from Tugs mane, making the horse jerk its head slightly in surprise and a fair bit of irritation, _"Could you shut your massive, stupid, hairy mouth for half a second? I was in deep thought."_

Tug nickered again, even louder this time. _"Don't you need a brain to think?"_

Valens merely glared at the horse, " _Shut up... you smell like shit."_ Tug went to blow a wet, sloppy raspberry at his master when Valens flicked his face with his gauntlet. _"You get a single drop of spit on me, I'll stab you and find another horse."_

Tug didn't respond this time, but he was sure that if the horse could grin, it would be doing so in victory. Valens shook his head in irritation at his horse as he dismounted, he hadn't made even two paces when a man suddenly collided into him. The peasant let out a loud 'Ooph!' as he smacked face-first into what felt like a brick shit-house, making him fall onto his arse. Valens dusted off his clothes and made to apologise when the man suddenly stood and went to grab him by his ringmail, only to fall again as Valens fluently stepped to the side.

"MONSTER! THERE'S A FLYING MONSTER IN THE FIELDS! My little girl mi' lord! She's trapped in the field!" He screamed hysterically, scrabbling at Valens' boots desperately.

Valens frowned deeply as he turned his head towards White Orchards farmlands, only to hear two things simultaneously. The door to the inn was flung open with the force of five men, and a shrill, powerful screech pierced the sky and echoed through the air. All was silent for a few seconds before pandemonium erupted in the town. People started screaming, running, and crying as they lost all vestiges of common sense.

Hearing a soft pitter-patter of footstep running towards him, Valens turned his head and saw Geralt weaving in and out through the crowd. The white wolf looked as dangerous as ever, with his dual two-handed swords and armour of Kaer Morhen.

"Geral-" Valens started, only to be cut off as the other Witcher raised his hand.

"No time for pleasantries Valens!-" He shouted gruffly as he mounted his horse in haste, Valens followed suit and did the same. "I was hoping to take care of this the day after you returned, but I guess now is a good time as well."

Valens nodded and flexed his hamstrings, the slight movement served as a signal to Tug. 'Be on your guard, stay mobile, and run to safety when I dismount'

It was just one of the many signals he had trained Tug to respond to.

The two Witcher's didn't spare the horses. They kicked off, in Valens' case poked Tug with his toe, into a pounding gallop, their horses kicked clouds of dirt up into the air with the speed at which they were moving.

They arrived at the source of all the screeching within minutes, the male griffin was on a rampage, ripping apart cattle and slamming them into the large granary, causing double the damage to the property owners. A distinct set of screaming made Valens grit his teeth, a young girl was trapped in the middle of the field. Her only source of protection against the maddened griffin were the large roots of an old, rotted tree that had been snapped in the middle already by the mighty lion/bird hybrid.

Valens urged Tug forwards, anger fuelling his actions as horse and Witcher charged towards the three hundred and eighty pound beast.

The griffin screeched in frustration as it clawed at the roots, trying to get at the squishy vertebrate within, completely oblivious to everything else. It didn't see Tug until too late...

The powerful strides of the pure-bred Zerrikanian smoke-trotter turned Tug's gallop into a bone-rending charge that slammed into the large griffin with the force of freight train. Valens' would have been launched a clear fifty feet across the field if he hadn't leapt off from Tug's back at the last moment.

Using the time Tug had given him, Valens sprinted to the broken tree and roughly grabbed the young and thoroughly unconscious girl, who had long since stopped screaming. He grimaced in despair as he saw that her left arm had been torn off from the elbow. Hurriedly draping her over Tug's back, Valens slapped Tug's rear hard. "Get her to the town!" The dragon Witcher roared.

Tug responded immediately, and with a loud whinny he took off at a blistering gallop back down the road they had come from.

Geralt pulled up beside Valens and nodded at him, "Good work, now we have no distractions to hinder us." He commended. However as Valens didn't respond, he noticed that the raven-haired Witcher was staring at something intently. Moving around the tree, Geralt felt his breath catch in his throat as he caught sight of a shredded, tiny, pale arm. Looking like it belonged to a child barely over five…

He shook his head sadly, but steeled himself quickly. He reached over and tapped Valens sharply on the shoulder, "Snap out of it, we have work to do."

Valens looked up at him, eyes ablaze with unholy fire, though his other features seemed apathetic. "I'll assault it from the ground." He growled out in a gravelly tone, seemingly struggling to speak without gritting his teeth. He closed his eyes in a vain effort to calm himself before he was distracted by the crossbow slung over Geralt's back. "I guess that's to keep it out of the air?" He asked, pointing to the bulky looking stick launcher.

Geralt nodded, though he still kept a wary eye on Valens, "Yeah, I'll try to keep it on the ground for us. I'll stay mounted."

Valens nodded as Geralt moved to get some distance. He looked back at the severed arm only to look up again as the griffin screeched at them, finally fully recovered from Tug's powerful shoulder-check. He snarled at the hybrid, canines bared for the world to see as his muscles rippled beneath his apparel. "You're going to pay for this atrocity, I swear by the earth. You will feel ungodly pain." He whispered quietly while slipping the large axe off of his back slowly.

Sinking low into a crouch, Valens waited, the muscles in his legs were coiled and ready to explode into action.

The griffin screamed at him again and with a flap of its wings, it began to rise into the air. Only to shriek in pain and surprise as a short, fat, fast-moving quarrel smacked into the thin flesh under its wings, making it tumble down the ten or so meters it had risen up.

Valens attacked.

He shot forwards in a blood-rushing sprint, clearing the distance between himself and the beast with adrenalin fuelled, powerful strides. He raised his axe ten or so paces away from the griffin, the heavy, tempered axe-head was ready to cleave apart the griffins skull, until it raised a wing and covered its face with its thick layers of feathers, creating a shield stronger than steel between Valens and it.

The dragon Witcher was not fazed, slowing down, he pivoted sharply on his heel and spun around the griffin, so he was now on its right flank. It was here his axe came arcing down into a crushing overhead.

Even though he had struck with a great deal of power into the flanks of the griffin where the feathers ran thinner, the Dane axe capable of shearing through plate-armour as if it was butter only _just_ managed to bite into the bone.

The griffin screamed in pain as Valens yanked the axe out roughly, doing as much as he could to inflict more damage. It lashed out with its tail, intent on whipping the golden-eyed mutant into oblivion, when suddenly a blinding pain shot through its tail.

Valens had rolled backwards as fast as he could the moment he had seen the griffin's intentions, but he would have been too late... Had Geralt not loosed a quarrel into the fleshy mid-section of the avian hybrid's tail with pin-point accuracy.

He risked a glance to see Geralt still on horseback, running circles around the griffin atop his horse, picking apart the griffin by hitting its weak points. He raised a hand to the white haired Witcher in thanks, who nodded back to him.

Valens punched the air in front of him with an open palm, and from his hand he expunged a great shock-wave that tore up the ground in front of him, yet only managed to ruffle the griffin's feathers. _'Blasted magical resistance.'_ He ground lowly in his mind.

However, the attack served its purpose, he had managed to take the attention off of Geralt and place it firmly back onto himself. The griffin screeched at the sight of him, ripping the air apart with its hateful noise. Throwing caution to the winds, the beast leapt forwards, the hook like talon on the tip of its wing carved through the air in an effort to skewer the Dragon Witcher.

Valens bolstered his body and dug his heels into the ground, raising his axe, he blocked the griffin's mighty swipe. The kinetic energy behind the attack pushed Valens across the ground like a plough, as if it were sand he was standing on and not dry, stone riddled dirt.

Recovering admirably from the stress of absorbing the blow, Valens pushed the now stationary wing that had been struggling against the haft of his axe back towards its owner, before lashing out with a rapid downwards chop.

The griffin let out another one of those ear-rending squeals and retracted its wounded appendage. That had its tip cleaved clean off…

The griffin made to attack him again when a bolt coming from its left managed to perfectly weave its way through the feathers of the griffin's left wing and slam home. The stubby quarrel burrowed deep into the griffin's left eye, _popping_ the delicate orb and splattering a slimy substance all over its own face.

If the noises coming from the animal before had pierced through the sky, then this next sound had managed to carve its way through the clouds and deafened even the pitched cacophony of war the gods themselves fought above.

Valens groaned in pain as he fell to a single knee, his two-handed axe fell from his hands as he clutched at his sensitive ears, the high pitched shriek had managed to brew a pounding ache within his mind; it felt strangely akin to a troll dancing a jig atop the parietal section of his skull.

Faintly; he heard someone shout something over the constant pounding in his head and the shrill ringing in his ears. It sounded strangely like 'Valens! move!..."

Tearing his eyes away from the ground, Valens looked up only to stare deep into an open, powerful beak capable of rending stone... the griffin had a disconcertingly feral look in its remaining eye. The eye that hadn't been burst by an inch thick shaft of wood tipped with iron. The eye that was filled with hate, anger, loss, desperation and… _**madness**_.

His death was mere feet away from him, yet Valens had only one thought that stood above the others within his mind.

' _Fuck my head hurts…'_

* * *

 **Embrace darkness, for should you fail to heed its call, it will embrace _you._**

* * *

AN: Leave a review please, I'm sure I've mentioned it, but I love hearing feedback, be it good or bad; I care not.


	4. Two down, so many more to go

_Death be upon us,  
For war begets us; it must...  
We scream as we sink; our enemy's blood do our fields drink,  
Never forget, the war thus we thrust, onto the land we have loved; and the skies that cry above._

 _Death be upon us, for our orchard's they die;  
Beside our blades do we lie,  
Death be upon us._

 _For War Begets Us; It Must._

\- Ode of White Orchard

* * *

Valens growled deeply in pain as he burrowed deep into his own mind. It was too late to evade the Griffin, for it was nearly upon him, and by the time he picked up his axe, he would have been missing his upper body. Clawing through the pain and confusion within his head, Valens searched desperately for… _it._

Pushing the pain away even further into the dark recesses of his mind, he felt soul churn around him in his quest for _it._ He felt not the wind on his hair, nor could he smell the foul stench of the griffin's breath. Only nothingness existed as he cleared his mind of all thoughts. Finally, after was felt like eons, but was in truth mere milliseconds, he found _it_ ; a small, azure blue light within his mind amongst the sea of darkness and pain. He reached out for it with his left hand, subconsciously reaching towards the griffin currently charging him in real life. Valens felt the blue orb touch his palm, and slowly, almost frigidly closed his fingers around the small light.

 ** _Power…_** Raw, animalistic strength flooded through his very being as the distraction of pain was stomped into nothingness.

In the real world, Valens' eyes shot open, radiating a powerful golden glow as he directed a mildly irritated glare at his enemy. With his gauntlet clad fist nearly inside of the griffin' wide open mouth, Valens opened his hand fully, and from his mouth, he uttered two words.

 **"Dovah Aard."**

* * *

The citizens of white orchard were terrified. A young, farmers daughter had returned slung over a strange looking horse's saddle, her right arm torn off from the elbow. It had been a mad rush to get her treatment, and the girl's father had fallen into a fit of hysterical insanity at the sight of her. The town didn't know what to do.

"Someone go fetch the 'erbalist! Someone go quick!" Someone shouted over the madness. Several people called after him, agreeing with the man. A few of the fleet footed young lads took off running, their little hide covered feet pattered across the dry roads as they ran down to the herbalists hut.

"We need water! Somebody get us some water!" The innkeeper shouted out in vain, but no one seemed to hear her. She went to open her mouth to scream out again when suddenly-

 ** _'BOOM!...'_**

An explosion loud enough to wake the long dead giants of the North shocked the land hard enough to make houses shake a little. The blast cleared the clouds in the sky and shot dirt up so high into the air it blot out the sun for a good minute. However, those who had been looking in the right direction had seen that it was no explosion of ordinary means. It was an explosion of magic.

A cone of pure blue magic had shocked through the air with enough force to tear the ground asunder.

The sight would haunt them for all of eternity.

* * *

Geralt shouted in surprise as he and Roach were both thrown off their feet and onto the hard earth below. However, he had seen what had caused it. Valens had used an Aard so powerful… even the gods would fear it's destructive power. Luckily, the range didn't seem too extensive. Hoisting himself up onto his feet, he checked Roach for injuries, coughing as he did so for the dirt had been blown into the air, creating a sandstorm of sorts.

Satisfied that his horse was healthy, he mounted and quickly rode out of the earthy death-trap; and felt his chest constrict slightly as he gazed upon the aftermath of the carnage. The ground where Valens and the Griffin had been fighting had been… eviscerated; leaving merely a twenty foot wide crater with long lines of destruction erupting from either side of it. One, from where the Griffin had been shredded into bloody ribbons and splayed across the ground like paint, and the second, from where Valens had rocketed through the ground and several trees from the recoil of the spell alone.

Urging Roach forwards, he galloped towards Valens' trail of destruction and followed it down, carefully avoiding the bits of the trail that were still smoking from the speed and friction of Valens' rapid ejection. Finally, after rounding a torn up tree, Geralt came across the Dragon Witcher. He was leaning against a large mound of dirt that had collected behind him as he slowed down, his leg was bent at an odd angle and there was a large branch from a tree sticking through his belly. His left arm also seemed damaged, judging from the way he cradled it gingerly. Geralt would wager that his back was also thoroughly burnt to a crisp, not to mention the extreme mental and physical exhaustion Valens would be feeling from such a draining attack.

Running towards the young Witcher, Geralt plucked out a swallow potion and tore off the stopper before forcing Valens' head up and nearly slamming the vial down his throat. He then pulled out a milky white potion and forced it down before pulling again, another swallow potion.

Valens blinked at him wearily before sighing tiredly and letting his head roll back as unconsciousness took him.

Geralt shook his head slowly, "Young, stupid, idiot. Those two swallow potions and the poppy toxicity reducer are going to keep you in pain, but they'll save your life. You're lucky you didn't die outright." He admonished.

Valens of course, being unconscious and all didn't reply.

Geralt grunted in irritation before standing and looking over his shoulder, he whistled shrilly and instantly, Roach began to clop towards him. He looked back at Valens and sighed exhaustedly, "Younglings…"

It was a long haul back to White Orchard…

* * *

Vesemir frowned as he looked over Valens; the young man was healing well. As expected of a Witcher on swallow potions, but the Dragon's vulnerability to the toxicity in the potions was hindering his recovery process immensely. He could only take one per every two days, unless the poppy milk was given to him beforehand, though white poppy was exceedingly difficult to find in White Orchard. Strange, seeming how the town was named after a type of flower.

It had been nearly four days since Valens' righteous recompense, and one day past their due date to depart from White Orchard. Geralt had been visited by Yennefer of Venderberg, who had tried then and there to take him to meet with the Emperor of Nilfguaard, strange enough in and of itself. When informed of the situation, the young sorceress healed Valens as best she could and told Geralt to depart immediately before doing so herself.

Of course, Geralt had stayed until the following morning before finally acquiescing with the icy sorceress' demand. He had left and in doing so, placed the burden of Valens' injuries upon Vesemir to bear. Not that he minded, for while the young lad was pleasant and polite, taking care of Valens gave Vesemir an excellent reason to not accompany Geralt to the Emperor. It was extremely likely, that upon hearing of Geralt's "master", the Emperor would demand his allegiance, which was something he did not wish to deal with.

Sighing a great and terrible sigh, Vesemir stood and made to leave for the inn when a meaningful cough made him jump slightly and whip out his broad-dagger in a habitual manner. Valens was sitting straight up on the edge of his bed, breathing slowly as he regarded the old wolf with amusement swimming in his golden eyes.

"Good lord boy! Don't ever do that again lest you wish to lose your ears!"

Valens raised a brow as he stood with a groan, growling in slight pain as his recently mended tibia strung the tiniest bit in protest. "It seems you already lost your ears, Old man. You're senses have dulled."

Vesemir glared at him half-heartedly. _'Pleasant and polite my sweet arse…'_

"Quite youngling, you were expected to wake up the morn after the next. Not now."

Valens shrugged at this, "I came all this way to find Geralt, and I got smashed into splinters nearly immediately. If I find that he had le-"

"He's gone." Vesemir cut in sharply, a smile spreading on his face as Valens closed his eyes in a vain attempt to reign in his irritation.

"Where?" Was the curt, one worded enquiry.

"Vizima." Was the curt, one worded reply.

Valens stared at Vesemir for a second before snorting. The old man merely harrumphed before stomping out the door. "Vesemir!" Valens' call made him stop. "Spare swallow potion for your troubles?" He heard the Dragon Witcher's cheeky voice ask.

Vesemir turned and withered a glare on the Witcher who had suddenly moved up close enough to be smelt. "Aren't you a Witcher? Bring your own damn potions!" Even as he said this, Vesemir took out a select few herbs and nearly through them at the young man, who caught them all deftly despite the fact, all with an infuriating grin on his face.

"Thank you uncle Vesemir, truly. I appreciate everything."

Vesemir closed his eyes for a second and nodded faintly. There it was; the heartfelt, wall-breaker technique of Valens the Dragonlord. _'Damn younglings…'_

Vesemir stared at his earnest face and sighed, "S'all right young Valens, couldn't well leave you here could I?" Valens shook his head, a grateful smile plastered on his face. "Are you leaving?"

Valens nodded as he took the herbs in his other hand to extend his right arm. "Aye, riding hard and fast to Vizima apparently. Again, thank you Vesemir."

The Old wolf merely nodded as he grasped Valens arm, "Stay safe young Valens. Hard times are ahead for you, I'm sure. They always seem to be…"

* * *

Valens groaned as he held his stomach and fought down the urge to hurl. Swallow potions were the bane of his existence, unequivocally. For nearly four hours, he had been seeing green and hurling on every bush he stopped by. It was horrible.

He made to groan loudly in utter agony when Tug suddenly stiffened under him, the steel grey furred horse's ears pricked up, and he snorted twice. _"Danger ahead, they reek of blood."_ Was his warning.

Valens' shoddy green vision immediately cleared as his mutant adrenalin system kicked into sixth gear, rapidly increasing his blood circulation until the Swallow potion was completely used up. The Witcher pulled his trusty axe off from the side of his saddle and urged Tug forwards silently.

Like Valens, Tug was nearly a ghost. The horse barely looked down to see where it was going, and yet it seemed to navigate perfectly around twigs and dry leaves. Tug didn't make a sound as he plodded forwards; hind legs tensed and ready to explode with motion within an instant.

They rounded a bend and Valens drew a sharp breath, there were Nilfgaardian bodies strewn across the road, some crushed underneath their horses and some cut to ribbons along with their steeds. These Nilfgaard's hadn't been pushovers either, they were thirteenth legion knights as one could discern from the badges sewn into their armour; trained from early childhood. Raised with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, as the old saying went.

Tug edged further around the bend and this time, Valens nearly fell out of his saddle. Huge jet black shaggy horses completely wreathed in spiky, demonic looking armour stomped three inch holes into the ground as their handlers let them graze as they spoke. The riders themselves seemed as if they had strode out of a madman's nightmare, garbed completely in a dark-steel armour, dressed as if expecting a blizzard of some sort to erupt at any moment.

There was no mistaking it. It was the Wild Hunt; the bastards he had tracked across half the world.

And they were looking at him…

 ** _"NAZGHUL DROK! DIE SCUM!"_**

Valens flinched in surprise as the first rider suddenly phased in front of him, horse and all. He made to raise his sword and remove Valens' head from his shoulders… but Tug, wasn't having _any_ of that. Kicking up onto his hind legs, Tug whinnied in righteous fury and slammed back down towards the earth; arcing his sharp hoof into the exposed cranium of the other horse. Valens only heard a crack like a tree snapping before Tug landed hard on his front legs, producing a wet squelching sound as he did so. Looking down, Valens recoiled the slightest bit.

Tug had shaved off the entire front half of the other horses head and gotten part of its brain stuck on his hoof. Shaking away the bizarre shock of the situation, Valens used the opportunity provided to lean over and slam his axe hard into the facemask of the downed Wild Hunter, who had been struggling to get out from under his thoroughly dead horse.

Removing his axe with a deft flick of his wrist, he stared down the other Hunter, who had watched the entire procedure with no hint of emotion. Valens made to charge, when suddenly, the Hunter raised his hand. Immediately, a rapid torrent of frost speeding across the ground froze all that touched it as it rocketed towards him. Valens flung himself off from Tug's back, allowing the horse to sprint out of the way in a quick burst of speed, thanks to his lightened burden.

Scrabbling to his feet, Valens thrust his own hand out and a stream of fire so focused that it looked akin to a beam shot towards the surviving Hunter, who merely waved his hand to wash it out with frost.

Valens smirked however; he hadn't expected to beat a mage in a battle of magic's with a basic fire spell like Igni. He only wanted Tug to get away and conceal himself. And get away Tug did.

Charging down towards the Hunter like a madman, Valens raised his axe and roared as loudly as he could, dodging whatever was sent his way with wide, exaggerated zig-zags. The Hunter made to turn and gain some distance when Valens shot his horse with an unfocused blast of Ard, making the creature stumble. It also however, much to his surprise, threw a large dust cloud up directly in front of the Hunter, obscuring its view.

This worked perfectly for Valens as he used the diversion to capitalise and slam his axe into the horse's flanks, cleaving through its ribs and muscle before slamming into the vital organs within. The shaggy, ghastly horse let out a loud scream as it went down; trapping its rider underneath its considerable weight. Again, using the trap that was the horse's carcass, Valens capitalised and slammed his axe down hard into the gap between the Hunter's helmet and chest piece. He heard the solid sound of blade shearing through flesh before his axe ripped through the back of the Hunter's neck, only to then slam into the ground.

Valens snorted in amusement as the 'all terrifying' Wild Hunter's head rolled away from its body and down a ditch into a puddle of mud. He made to then scour the bodies for clues, anything useful, when he suddenly heard the loud screeches of horses behind him. Pivoting on his heel, Valens backed away step by step; his heart began to hammer in his chest as he heard the rolling thunderstorm that was the dozens of horses golloping towards him. With a loud, hellish screech, Valens felt his heart sink as the first vanguard of the Wild Hunt exploded around the corner; greatsword raised and ready to cleave him apart. The pale, icy glow behind the lone rider foretold many more to follow him. Whistling shrilly in panic, Valens turned on his heel and ran; he ran for all he was worth.

If the Wild Hunt sounded like a thunderstorm, then Tug's gallop sounded like a raging tidal wave. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see Tug slam into the side of the Hunter's horse with a force ten-folds stronger than the charge of a raging bull. The shaggy demon horse nearly folded completely into two as Tug sheared through its ribs and sent Horse and Rider combined flying into the forest with enough strength to crack the tree they had collided with.

Tug recovered from his mad charge with barely a stumble and made a bee-line for his master. Reaching up, Valens grabbed hold of Tug's saddle and hauled himself up and into the saddle. Slapping Tug's rear with reckless abandon, Valens shouted at Tug to move. And move he did.

Valens was nearly flung out of the saddle as Tug turned the countryside into random blotches of colour here and there. " _Good work, my friend. You saved my life…"_

Tug snorted in amusement. " _-Again."_

Valens laughed. " _Yes, again; gods… I love you so much Tug!"_

He wouldn't know it, as he was distracted by Tug impossibly increasing his speed even further, but the lean, powerful horse's heart was fluttering in pride.

Valens turned his mind back onto the present, "That's two notches on my belt. At this rate, I'll need to buy another in the near future…"

* * *

 **AN: Yah, I got caught up in life. Again.**

 **Seriously guys, I got smashed with work, training and a bunch of other shit all in the matter of weeks. Writing had been pushed to the furthest recesses of my mind, I simply didn't have time for it. And by looking at the word count of this chapter, I'm sure you can all see that I still don't have that much time for it. Please. Forgive me for the shitty upload rates, I truly am sorry.**

 ** _Also, a cookie to whoever gets the Aard Variation reference. I expect one hundred reviews from different people quoting the name of something that breaks the barriers of the word "Legendary"_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I own nothing. Don't sue me._**


	5. Warmer Trails

**"What is bravery, without a dash of recklessness?**

 **– Hawk-eye Gough**

* * *

 **Vizima, Capital occupied of Temeria  
One day later…**

Valens frowned at the hoard of guards currently barring his entry to the castle, apparently, name dropping Geralt and Yennefer did little but stir them. He had completed the journey to Vizima in record time, arriving to the capital near dusk. Unfortunately now he faced another problem; one that came with not being in Nilfgaard's graces.

Violence would not serve him well here; he would either be cut down in seconds or win unscathed only to label himself an enemy of the state for the rest of his life. Neither were very healthy options for his future.

He stood there, in front of the main keep doors for a second longer as he thought, thoroughly unnerving the guards as they shifted closer and gripped their weapons tighter, when suddenly the doors were flung open from within. Admitting what looked to be fourth battalion Nilfgaardian knights, a young and inexperienced, yet frighteningly skilled and a pristinely equipped troop.

In the middle of the two lines of plated knights, Valens spied a very, very familiar face. A serene visage that made the blood drain from his face in despair.

" _Valens?"_ A feminine, melodious, and in Valens' opinion, terrifying voice quizzed in disbelief.

With a final despondent sigh, Valens nodded meekly in response. "My lady." He ground out, somehow still managing to make it sound courteous.

However the woman instantly saw through the mask and grinned delectably, she shooed aside her men and moved to stand in front of the Dragon Witcher imperiously; only to suck in a breath as his golden eyes locked with her own brown orbs. She moved to touch his face with her gloved fingers, smiling as he rolled his eyes at the contact. His disposition of careful, picturesque neutrality contorted in a wince however when her previously starry-eyed gaze turned into an blistering glare as she tore her hand away from his face.

"You, Valens Stormborn, have some explaining to do."

Valens blinked slowly in response, _'God damn it…',_ "Nyzerah… I-" He started, but the elegant young lady cut him off instantly.

"No!" She hissed. "Not here, somewhere nice and romantic where you can make it up to me, not here." She turned on her heeled, expensive and skimpily impractical laced boots to wave the guards aside. "Give this man clearance to my chambers and have him issued a room." She delicately sniffed the air once before shrugging, "Bathe him as well, and then send him to the orchard garden." She finally finished.

One of her knights bowed at the waist, "Of course Madam Nyzerah… will his room be, close to yours?" He asked, a slight mischievous tone entering his words.

Nyzerah flushed pink before regaining herself nearly effortlessly; she smirked sensually at the young knight. "I would rather _not_ have him in another room, but that is frowned upon before marriage no?" She asked innocently, her smirk turning into a full grin as the soldier recoiled slightly. Her grin slipped off of her face however, which quickly turned frosty as she levelled a glare on the young man. "And I would have you housed in the dungeons for a month for such disrespect."

The knight stifled his stammers and bent to his knee, "Whatever pleases you, my lady."

Nyzerah sniffed haughtily as she reached over to nudge a very amused Valens towards the knight, pinching his rear as she did so, restraining a laugh as his lip twitched in tandem with his eye. "Take Valens and do as I asked."

The knight stood and nodded his head, "At once." He snapped curtly. He nodded to Valens, who dipped his head in return, before pivoting on the spot and striding past his fellow knights and guardsmen, humming appreciatively as he found Valens directly beside him, not deterred in the slightest by his brisk pace. Curious, he slowed down to a more comfortable pace, watching as the other man seamlessly slowed down in near symphony.

"Forgive me, Master Valens-"

"Valens." The Dragon Witcher cut in sharply.

The knight frowned underneath his helm, "I beg your pardon?"

Valens' lips twitched in a wistful smile before he tightened his features and turned his head to level a curious gaze on the other man. "We are both soldiers, we live and die by the sword. These fancy eyes of mine instigate all manners of responses. Jealousy, fear, disgust… but to be referred to with respect because of them irks me. You will refer to me as Valens." He commanded.

The knight felt his liking towards the young Witcher soar as he found himself nodding. "Yes sir- Erm, Valens?" He tried to continue, but paused, finding the situation a little awkward.

However Valens merely gestured for him to continue with a lazy smile playing on his lips.

"Uh, right." He stalled before gathering himself. "You seem to be on quite close terms with Lady Nyzerah…" He hinted, wincing as he saw Valens' smile slip from his features.

"Ah, I should have expected this." He muttered, seemingly to himself. "Correct, Nyzerah sei' Lisia, daughter of Warlord Lisia is a close friend of mine. We will speak no more of this, while she seemed pleased to see me at first, I am sure the hour of my reckoning is at hand." He stated in a mysterious tone, a delinquent's smirk hovering on his face as he stared straight ahead to his destination.

The young Knight took the hint and dropped the subject, and instead began to subtly size the other man up. Valens was known in Nilfgaard, known by many in the military, known by few in the political dominion, and by the townspeople… it was reasonable to assume that a commoner had no knowledge of the Witcher whatsoever. It was rumoured that he alone survived the Great Fire that laid waste to the Grand Hall of the Nilfgaardian capital, only to then immediately hunt down and slaughter the offending, would-be assassin. His deeds rang far throughout the ranks, and the knight found himself curious as to how powerful the man beside him truly was. However, much to his chagrin, a keen observation did not go unnoticed by a Witcher.

"I would ask you to stop making eyes at me. Unless dinner plans have already been made, I am afraid you will not bed me tonight." The Witcher chirped, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

The armoured young man spluttered lightly, failing to hide his embarrassment behind a cough. He thanked his lucky stars that his helm was full-faced, for the redness of his face might have given the Witcher the wrong impression. "F-forgive me Mast-" He paused abruptly at the threatening growl he was met with, frowning in slight intimidation and confusion, he stammered unintelligently before it clicked within his mind. "My apologies. 'Valens'." He corrected, finding himself relieved when the low growls stopped. "I wouldn't suggest such a thing, I was merely curious as to your skill in battle." He explained hurriedly.

Valens hummed thoughtfully before he shook his head. "That is unwise. Make vague observations, yes. But never judge a man based on his looks or stature. I know of a pot-bellied, grumpy and decrepit old man that could put me in the dirt with a wooden sword... that had been snapped at the hilt."

The young Knight snapped his head up at this and frowned. "That is certainly a bold proclamation; this old man must be quite capable?" He asked warily.

Valens turned a withering gaze onto the Knight, before breaking out into a cheery grin. "Yup." Was all he said.

The young trooper merely nodded as they came to a stop within a great-hall. He gestured to the left, and by thus, the giant wooden door set into the wall. "That is the guest wing, Sir Valens." The Knight paused to catch the eye of a servant before turning fully and bowing at the waist. "He will see to your needs, a pleasure, Sir." The young Knight found himself smiling as Valens merely clapped him on his pauldrons heartily in response. Nodding once more, the soldier exchanged a quick bout of words with the servant in his natural tongue, before he turned on his heel and marched swiftly back the way he came.

Valens watched him leave before turning his attention towards the elderly Nilfgaardian bowing before him. "At ease, show me to my rooms, and see that my horse is well cared for." He grunted pointedly.

The servant only deepened his bow in response, "At once my lord."

* * *

Shrugging his shoulders experimentally, Valens sneered at the fancy clothes he was wearing. He could have easily shrugged the servant's pleas to dress properly aside, but chose not to. Nyzerah was already agitated, better not to antagonise her further by walking up to her donned in blood-stained gear. They had tried to get him to wear a doublet, a notion which he had adamantly declined; instead, he merely wore loose black velvet trousers, felt boots, and a black silk shirt. His axe was resting in his room as weapons could only be carried in the castle by knights, and he was the furthest thing from a knight.

"Don't need weapons to snap a neck now do I?" He mumbled to himself before turning on his heel and marching out the door to his quite lavish room. He was supposed to have called out to the servant and asked to be escorted to the orchard gardens, yet he had little patience for such frivolities. It was clear Nyzerah wanted something from him, and if the Nilfgaardians had problems with his disregard for their customs, then they would have to take the matter up with the stubborn daughter of a highborn Warlord.

He shouldn't have been able to simply stroll past guards and nobles as he did. But wearing expensive clothes and walking with a solid purpose seemed to elevate Valens' stature the eyes of others. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book; acting like you had a reason to be there.

After nearly ten minutes of aimless walking, Valens finally found himself feeling peevish. Impossible as it might sound, striding around through a castle you have never been before looking for a place you have never even heard of might not have been the greatest idea. He was on the verge of grabbing the nearest guard and demanding directions when a certain sight caught his eye from a nearby window. Two floors below him, the castle opened out into large garden, beautiful arrays of flowers and greenery lined the area in neat rows and patterns. Sitting on a stone bench nearly fifty feet from a stone fountain sat the very same woman who had saved him from having to lurk around and wait to catch Geralt as he left the castle. Sighing in relief mingled with resolution, Valens quickly made his way down several flights of stairs and slipped past Nyzerah's personal escort of knights. Funnily enough, the same young knight with the winged helm whom had been tasked with escorting the Witcher to his room actually managed to spot and bow to the elusive warrior as he sidled through the crowd. Valens pursed his lips in surprise before shrugging and dipping his head in response before fully parting through the crowd and moving to stand behind the gorgeous young woman.

He observed her curiously, she was dressed in a loose yet form fitting dress that accentuated her southern curves, it was cut into ribbons at the pelvis and in doing so, showed off her smooth, mocha coloured legs. She currently sat with her legs crossed, hand leaning back behind her to keep her from falling over as she watched the sun slowly go down and night slowly creep up. He made not a noise as he stood behind her like a spectre, wondering if-

Nyzerah inhaled deeply and cocked her head to the side slightly, "Valens? Perfect timing, the sun's in its most beautiful state right now, besides sunrise of course." She stated pleasantly, still looking at the sunset.

Valens smirked lightly, she never failed to spot him. It didn't matter what he did, she always knew he was near. "I still don't understand how you do that." He admitted as he walked around her and leaned against the bulwark that marked the end of the garden. The area below was lined with soldiers marching across the courtyard, and far in the distance he could see smoke rising from over the hill, signalling the presence of a town or village. It was a serene sight.

He forced down a smirk as he felt a hand roam curiously up his muscled back, before with a click of her booted heels Nyzerah stepped up to stand beside him. "You ran off." She accused, her hand still roaming across his back. "You stole my heart, fucked it silly and stole away in the night like a thief." Her crass language still managed to come out somehow elegant as she glared at him.

Valens snorted softly and inhaled deeply. "There was a war going on sweetheart, I had certain people I and more specifically, my sword needed to tend to." He answered honestly, only to have his chin grabbed and forcefully yanked to look into a pair of luscious brown orbs set in a gorgeous face.

"You. Left." The young noble asserted once more. "Without even a goodbye, and not for just the battle, you left for years." Her voice had gone dangerously quiet, she stepped into him, her breasts against his and her eyes inches apart from the unflinching Dragon Witcher's. Her hand resumed its roaming, however this time it sidled down his rippling chest and abdomen, past his pelvis and latched firmly around the sleeping serpent slumbering within his trousers. "Did your 'sword' have to attend to other people when you were gone all those years?" She quizzed, her grip tightening slowly.

Yet to his credit, Valens merely perked a brow and placed his hands on her hips, "I haven't touched another woman since then. Besides Nyzerah, truly, would your father allow you to pursue relations with a Witcher? A mutant? It shouldn't have happened in the first place, it only caused you grief." His grip tightened when he saw her begin to falter.

"D-do you really believe that?" She asked in disbelief, her coy act gone as her arms dropped limply by her side.

Valens nodded resolutely. "I do not wish you more pain, not from your father, and not from me." He stated solemnly. _'Fuck, this is going downhill fast.'_

It was a reaction. An instinct weathered from years of being in the presence of distraught maidens whom failed in their attempts to trap his affections. A tear fell from Nyzerah's eye, and her tongue began to move, yet no words were formed. So he kissed her. Long and deep, his mutant body heat set her own skin on fire and his beastly pheromones invaded her pores and drove her into an exhilarated state of utter bliss. He withdrew after what felt like an eternity and wiped the tear from her face softly. "No tears. Please." He asked huskily.

Nyzerah merely stared at him, her knees weak and hands desperately gripping his waist for support. She stared at him for what seemed like ages before she stood fully and stepped backwards, pulling him with her. She fell onto her back on the large stone bench and forced Valens down with her. "If I am not allowed to weep, then I will moan, I will feel one with you one more time." She demanded, her sultry whisper trying to force its way through Valens' sense of reason.

He looked at her incredulously. "Here? In the middle of a garden? Nyzerah, you're the Warlord's daughter!" He reminded fiercely.

Nyzerah merely smirked at him mischievously, "Correct, but did you see any nobles in the part of the castle? I _am_ the Warlord's daughter, and I lay claim to this entire wing of the castle." She didn't let him finish before pulling his head down and catching his lips in another blistering kiss, Valens tried to pull back, but she bit his lip hard and pulled him back down before tearing at his clothes.

Valens finally freed himself and stood slowly. He glared at the young woman, who shivered in turn. From excitement or fear, she knew not. First his shirt came off with a flourish; his chiselled physique glinted in the light of the moon that had just begun to rise over the horizon. Then off came his boots and trousers, showing off a set of powerful looking legs, seeming as if they were built to haul the world across the universe. Yet his impressive physique only added to his main attraction; it was something else entirely that made Nyzerah's mouth water uncontrollably.

 **"You sure play a** ** _dangerous_** **game, my dear."** His voice had changed, gone was the pleasant, controlled and articulate lilt of a young man. It was replaced by a guttural growl of fierce desire. A series of grunts formed into words, backlit by a dominating, primal lust.

Nyzerah felt her core flame up like the sun as she stared into the eyes of the beast she had awoken. And the Dragon stared right back, its pupils contracted into thin slits and its fangs bared, as if presented a meal.

Valens the Witcher was gone, and instead, a pariah of the legendary Dragon-kind he was named after stood in his place.

It was lucky that this particular section of the castle was deserted, sans the guards. For the Warlord's daughter did not moan like she had intended to. She screamed, and screamed. She scratched and writhed like a demoness in heat.

And… After it all, she was once again left alone, outside in the cold wind; a stupid grin plastered on her face. Her mind addled from lust and carnal desire, her body shaking uncontrollably from ripples of a past pleasure so intense it still lingered, her legs so weak they seemed unusable and her clothes shredded so terribly, it was if she had been mauled by a beast.

Valens shook out his raven hair as he buttoned on his silk shirt and stalked out through the doors of the orchard garden. He grinned ferally at the speechless young knight with the winged helmet before striding off with light, carefree steps. Whistling a jaunty tune as he left.

 _'Damn, I forgot how loud she was…'_

* * *

 **The following morn...**

Valens peered keenly at the board in front of him, he was down by a dozen points and he had no attacking card with the ability to tip the scales. He was playing a game called Gwent, and his opponent was the same winged helmed knight from the previous day, whom he now knew as Ser Adessius Malvord, son of the esteemed quartermaster of the Royal Nilfgaardian Navy.

"Would you like to forfeit Master Valens?" The young knight asked pleasantly.

Valens growled softly at the title before holding up a hand. Adessius had played a strong artillery game, and had bonded them all while he had sought to do the same with his melee. However, the artillery was obviously more powerful than any set of melee he could have put down. If he had been playing in terms of sheer strength, he would have surely lost the game.

Valens shook his head and smirked, setting the other man on alert nearly instantly. He threw down a weather card and sat back as Adessius found his entire lineup reduced to nothing. "Sometimes, my friend. Might is not always the answer." Valens hinted sagely.

Adessius recoiled in his seat, "Damn, and with those two spies you have placed upon me, I can no longer draw. That was clever." He looked up shrewdly. "Did you mislead me when you said you had never played this game before? Your confusion seemed genuine."

Valens chuckled softly and shook his head, "No, I was in fact confused as to what purpose those spies served throughout the entire game. I also wasn't sure as when I should play my weather card, I did not know your deck is so heavily aligned with artillery."He admitted wholly.

Adessius sighed as he retrieved the borrowed standard deck he had given Valens to play with. "That's the thing is it not, not one of my brethren have weather cards that affect me, certainly not two of them." He stated pointedly as he waved around the deck in his hand.

" _Of course I would find the Dragon Witcher himself, and the commander of the fourth battalion playing cards like children, in their room as well."_

Valens scoffed derisively as Adessius stood and saluted, "My apologies ma'am!"

Valens merely stood and yawned, "You have nothing to apologise for." He turned to face the woman who had decided to intrude and promptly stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth hung agape allowing his canines to be seen plainly. "Yennefer?" He asked in disbelief.

The gorgeous sorceress in question smiled at him before jerking his head to the knight. "Out." She commanded; and he left at once, however not without a final salute to Valens. Yennefer watched the man leave before turning back to Valens, who had somehow managed to sidle close enough to smell. Funnily enough, he didn't smell that bad like everyone else on the entire planet did. He was peering at her in utter disbelief.

"You're supposed to be dead, Geralt lied?" He asked quizzically.

Yennefer snorted softly, "Finished gawking?" she asked impatiently. Only to struggle in hiding the resulting smile when Valens backed away a step and looked away awkwardly. "And no... yes... maybe. Likely to stop you from doing anything rash."

Valens frowned in confusion, "But-"

"Enough." Yennefer snapped, she raised her hand and beckoned for Valens to follow, only to sigh in frustration when he didn't. "Valens, there is a matter of utmost importance we need to tend to-"

"But Yen-"

"Enough!" She shouted over her shoulder as she pivoted elegantly and began to walk swiftly down the guest wing.

Valens groaned and grabbed his gear hurriedly before jogging out the door, "Yes maa." He retorted snarkily, only to yelp in surprise as a spike of ice was sent his way in retaliation.

"Wow, a little _frosty_ are we this fine morning Yen?" Valens laughed at his own joke and jogged a little faster to catch up, yet even he was wary as the temperature in the room dropped a few more degrees.

"Yen! What, or who am I doing and where am I going?" He called out halfheartedly.

Yennefer faltered in her pace for a second before looking over her shoulder. "Valens... It's Ciri."

Valens stopped.

* * *

 **AN: Whoops. Yeah look sorry for the wait. Got a little caught up again. Hopefully I can get back into the swing of things now huh? Wordcount is low, I know, trust me. I just wanted to get this out there as like a little flag waving around saying "Guys! I'm not fucking dead over here!"**


	6. Wolfish ordeals

**"The man who passes the sentence, should swing the sword."**

 **\- Eddard Stark, Former Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell.**

* * *

 **Velen, Northern unclaimed of Temeria, No Man's Land.  
Five days later…**

"There's a key in his boot…"

Valens turned his head slightly and nodded to the door of the nearby house. Swiftly striding up to it, he tried the latch. No luck. "Hmmph." The Dragon Witcher huffed haughtily before raising his left leg and proceeding to kick the heavy oak door off of its frost snapped hinges. "I'd wager that's no ordinary run of the mill key, it's a three pin key for a turn-lock isn't it?"

Geralt nodded once and quickly took the hint, he pat Valens on the shoulder and walked inside swiftly. "Hmm, a chest key. Watch my back will you?" He threw over his shoulder gruffly.

Valens hummed quietly in assent before plopping himself down on the doorframe so as not to dirty his pants, looking up, his golden eyes once more drank in the details of the decimated village around him.

There was frost clinging to everything it could ever possibly cling to, the grass, the houses, the corpses, even the very air was thick with it. It contrasted angrily with the still smouldering fires that illuminated some of the houses. The Wild Hunt had been through the village, on a viler rendition of his own quest; to find Ciri. They had ransacked the village and slaughtered its inhabitants in order to find one man. The Emperor's informant, a man named Hendrik. There was but a single survivor, a broken, stale remnant of a man who would have been dog food had Geralt and he not come along.

He made to reach into his pack when his ears suddenly pricked in response to something distinct. A sharp snap of an ice encrusted leaf it sounded like, well, sharp to a Witcher; to a human it may have been nothing more than whisper of a crackle. He smirked idly when he heard Geralt's carefree rummaging suddenly become silent before he carried on with his rummaging. Geralt heard it too.

Valens' smirk however turned to a frown when he suddenly realised the situation he was in. Sitting on a doorframe with his axe leaning against the wall of the building with one hand jammed into his pack, fingers wrapped around a piece of smoked beef wasn't exactly the best situation to be in before a confrontation.

To call it anything less would be ludicrous, if the interlopers had approached as near as they did without hailing presence then their intentions would be either hostile or curious. Either intent was punishable by death, Valens reasoned as his fingers found an empty spot in his pack.

It seemed however, that the interlopers were in fact a bit more co-ordinated than just a group of aimless bandits; for a thick, fat bolt was loosed at his head from under the brushes, only to be sent hurtling back from a wave of precise blue energy as Valens tore his hand out of his pack and thrust it towards the bolt inches away. His right hand grasped his weapon as his left hand once again spewed forth a powerful stream of magic, however this time, it was red, and very hot.

The ice in front of him melted as if hurled into a the pits of hell, and he heard a panicked scream come from the trees on the other side of the small village. A man came tumbling out, fire blackening his skin and charring his flesh as he struggled to continue breathing. Valens snorted roughly before flourishing his battle-axe gracefully, "Try not to stomp around like a damned troll the next time you try to sneak up on a Wiedźmin." He snarled condescendingly before taking long menacing steps towards the trees where he could now see housed several men and women.

He heard Geralt come out from the house behind him, quickly drinking in the situation and reacting accordingly. With a wave of the White Wolf's fingers, Valens barely made out a dull purple hue that lined their entire rear, Likely a Yrden variant of some form. Valens hummed appreciatively, "Gramps teach you that one?"

Geralt grunted in affirmation, "Yeah, haven't used it often. Let's hope these idiots let me practice a little bit huh?"

Valens growled his assent and lowered his centre of gravity slowly, the moment his left knee touched the ground, his entire form exploded into movement, blasting snow off and up into the air as he took off in a blistering sprint towards the aggressors who in turn recoiled visibly before shouting their war cries and charging forward with an assortment of weapons. Geralt trailed quickly behind, keeping in distance to assist if need be yet still able to cover the flanks adequately.

The first bandit exploded in a puff of gore; completely mistiming his hammer swing and paying the price as Valens neatly loosened his grip on his axe, allowing it to drop down into a position where he could punch with the head of the heavy weapon, pivoting and ramming the back spike of his Dane axe into the man's throat before continuing on with his rotation and ripping both his weapon and hand through the man's neck. Continuing with his momentum, the Dragon Witcher rolled forwards and flipped the axe head around as he did so, now presenting the wickedly keen edge to the next bandit who was in the middle of trying to slow his already loosed, and doomed to miss overhead swing. With his grip still on choked up on his axe, Valens reached up and grabbed the back of the man's head, only to pull it forward and grind his throat open upon the axe-blade.

He made to step back and survey his work when instinct alone made him drop down to the floor. Luckily for him, his instincts saved his life yet again as an arrow tipped with likely a razor sharp broad head whizzed by above him and thudded cleanly into the planks of a nearby house. Pushing off explosively from the ground, Valens spun and let out wave of fire that dispersed amongst the nearby buildings, however, the attack served its purpose, as he caught sight of a figure silhouetted within one of the house windows.

Growling a feral challenge to the would be sniper, the Dragon Witcher tore past the building and sprinted to the door of the house, which was just being opened as he got there, and so, using the momentum he was given; Valens bashed the flimsy wooden door with a lowered shoulder sending both door and sniper flying off to the side. Recovering quickly, Valens hopped over the doorstep and moved towards who he could now see was a young, attractive looking elf woman. He swung his axe with murderous intent, only to be foiled as the she-elf held up her bow as a shoddy means of defence. While his meteorite Dane battle-axe sheared through the long bow like paper, the multiple levels of density within the wood forced his axe edge to the side as it cut through, resulting in his attack only slicing apart the flesh on the front of her chest instead of cleaving her in two as he had intended. Nevertheless, it was a ghastly wound that made her scream for all she was worth. He made to silence her noise when the crunch of foot on snow snapped him out of his stupor; he spun and took the horizontal swing intended for the back of his neck on the shaft of his axe. Thoroughly surprising the pot-bellied bandit and making him regret his actions as his cheap, poorly maintained iron broadsword shattered like glass upon smacking a superior hunk of steel. His scream was quickly stifled into a rabid gurgle as Valens rammed the butt of his axe into the man's throat, crushing his windpipe and dislodging a disc in the man's spinal cord. He spun around to finish of his female opponent, only to curse in anger upon seeing her figure dart through the bushes on the far side of the town.

"Damn she's quick…" He muttered in irritation, he made to call Tug and give chase when Geralt suddenly shouted out from around where he guessed to be Hendrik's house.

"Valens leave her! I doubt she'll be coming back anytime soon. Come give me a hand with this!"

The dragon Witcher snarled angrily in the general direction is prey had escaped in before turning on his heel and marching towards Geralt. He came upon the elder Witcher examining the floorboards, or what looked more to be reinforced wooden beams nailed in with wrist thick wedges of iron. "He certainly doesn't want anyone getting in there now does he?" He asked rhetorically, all traces of irritation forgotten.

Geralt grunted in assent, "If you wanna use that monkey wrench of yours to get this open be my guest, otherwise we will have to find the alternate entrance."

Valens raised a brow as he hefted his heavy axe around in his hand, "You think there is an 'alternate' entrance?"

Geralt snorted in response. "Hendrik is supposed to be an imperial spy, I doubt his little man-cave would only serve as a one way bunker." The white wolf advised.

Valens grunted in affirmation before raising his axe high over his head and bringing it down with a splintering thud, only to frown at the lack of progress. The monster axe could cleave through steel plate like a scythe through wheat. Wood shouldn't have been so resilient. "Ice… Artificial, magical ice is permeating the wood. We'll need to char it first and then I can chop through."

Geralt merely sighed as he raised his hand in tandem with Valens. "Of course… Of course it couldn't be simple."

And with that statement, the two Witchers let loose a torrent of scarlet flame from their palms.

It took a minute or so of constant flames to finally weaken the ice enough to break through, which Valens did so with reckless abandon. Hauling away the leftover debris, Valens slipped quietly down into the hidden basement. Approaching one of the sconces holding a still smouldering torch, the Dragon Witcher flicked an ember into pitch soaked wood and ripped it off of the wall.

Geralt squeezed past him, eying him disdainfully. "Can you not do anything quietly?"

The raven haired Witcher grinned and let out a loud belch in response.

He only got a low grumble in response and a gruff, "Bring that torch over here, there's a locked chest here."

Complying, Valens made his way around the corner and found himself in a tiny room with a desk, a chair and a chest in the corner. On the far side, was a tiny tunnel barely big enough for one man dug into the hard packed dirt. "You were right, there's his escape route." He gestured to the uncomfortable looking escape route. Geralt grunted in response before humming quietly, prompting Valens to bring the light to bear.

"Hmm, Hendrik was masquerading as a merchant. This ledger has notes hidden amongst the entries; clever…

 _'Missing and wanted, subject appeared in Skellige, also sighted in Novigrad. Appearance unchanged, ashen hair, scar on face. Avoids contact with others.'_

 _'Drunken swine. So called Baron hosted subject at his castle, or should I say, 'Illegally appropriated garrison.'_

 _'Clashed with a witch. Subject appeared in swamp, dropped out of portal. Encountered a witch, conflict ensued. Cause unknown. Find witch, talk to the peasantry; village of Midcopse.'_

 _'Caution advised. I'm being observed. Don't know whom or why. Unsettling signs, dog ran off, water in bucket froze solid, crops dying, strange glowing at night…"_

Valens frowned as Geralt read out the hastily scrawled and summarised notes. "Cirilla was sighted in Skellige, Novigrad, at the Bloody Baron's castle here in No Man's Land, 'A' random swamp somewhere, fought a witch and traipsed around in the village of Midcopse? Did I get that right?"

Geralt grunted tiredly, "Yeah… We have a lot of work to do." Geralt made to throw the ledger back into the chest when Valens stopped him abruptly and snatched the book away, flipping it to the end pages. "What're you-"

"-Look." Valens interrupted, holding up the thick ledger for Geralt to see. Sketched painstakingly was a symbol, a strange looking flower ringed in by circles of rope.

Geralt pursed his lips, "That's the wolfsbane symbol… For either trapping or enslaving Lycanthropes."

Valens nodded, "I thought I noticed the flower as you were flipping through the pages. Do you think Hendrik knows what the symbol means?"

Geralt shook his head nearly instantly, "That is very specific knowledge, something only a Witcher or someone with serious interests in Lycanthropy would be privy too. He likely just saw the symbol somewhere."

Valens nodded but shook the book in his hand again, "Exactly. Specific knowledge, why the fuck would this imperial spy find this symbol here of all places and expect it to be something of note?" He quizzed rhetorically.

Geralt eyed him curiously before nodding slowly, "I see what you're getting at, definitely something going awry around here. Ask around, see what you can find. Hopefully it's just a turned omega; however, the only time I have seen that symbol in action was in order to enslave that Brownback Alpha in the forests of southern Temeria." The older Witcher informed warily.

Valens winced, "An Alpha huh? That must have left a few scars."

Geralt chuckled mirthlessly as he clapped the younger Witcher on the back before finding his way out, "Do you honestly think I faced that behemoth in a one on one fight?" He threw disbelievingly over his shoulder as he climbed the ladder to the hut. "You never ever take on a Theta, let alone a damned Alpha. I let that dog chase me while I shot him with a ballista lashed to a chariot. Even then I almost died."

Valens laughed at his elder and hauled himself spryly out of the cave, "Of course you did."

Geralt snorted haughtily as he mounted Roach, "We should start with the Baron, he's the closest lead we have right now." He stated, changing the subject swiftly.

Valens smirked in victory before calling Tug and followed suit. "Agreed, meet there in five days time? I have something to take care of in four days." He informed slyly.

Geralt frowned at him before realisation dawned on him, sighing loudly the Witcher rolled his eyes. "The full moon is in four days."

"…"

"Really? Valens?"

Valens didn't reply, he instead shrugged and nudged Tug with a toe. "I'll look for you by the Hanged Man's Tree in three days?" He asked with a raised brow.

Geralt nodded in response.

Valens grinned a wolfish grin and raised a hand in farewell, just before Tug exploded with movement. Leaving the White wolf, his horse, and the decimated village in a cloud of dust.

* * *

 ** _'One day later...'_**

' _To any and all who are able, I post this message in a desperate plea for help. My wife is missing, she disappeared on the last moon in the night, I will offer a handsome reward to any who can offer aid and will pay any ransom for her safe return. Please find the village of Heatherton to discuss **anything** with me._

 _Regards,_

 _Hunter Niellan'_

Valens eyed the note curiously before sighing and stuffing it into a saddlebag, "I'm running a little low on money I guess."

Pulling out a leather, waterproof scroll carrier, the Dragon Witcher unscrewed the cap and pulled out the scroll within and spread it over Tug's nape. It was a map of Velen, of No Man's Land. He frowned slightly as he traced a road with his clawed, gauntlet clad finger. _'Heatherton… It's several hours away on horseback, I should make it there by fore-noon.'_

Tug snorted imperiously. _'You'll make it there now if you would stop playing with maps you can't read'_

Valens clicked his tongue and flicked Tug's ear in irritation, "Heatherton…" Valens' frown deepened. There was something peculiar about Heatherton's location, except he couldn't quite pick it out. Shrugging dis-concertedly, the Witcher sealed away the map and grunted impatiently, prompting Tug to start trotting amiably before he suddenly shifted gears and tore up the dirt as his four piston-like legs exploded into action. Valens, used to the speed barely shifted in his seat, only leaning forward slightly so the wind resistance and sudden inertia of movement didn't send him flying out of the saddle. Though his frown was still firmly in place, the cogs within his mind turning ever so slowly…

* * *

 _* **Whump!** *_

The splitting maul cleaved through the wood like butter, it was easier than ever, almost as if there wasn't even a block of wood on the stump in front of him. Niellan frowned as he turned the maul over in his hands before sighing sadly. So many weird occurrences had been arising of late, his beloved disappears during the night, his hunting dogs act strange around him, gone was the trust and friendly superiority they responded to; now it was like he had beaten and starved them their entire lives, absolute submission was what he sensed from them. His job and daily chores had never been easier, as if Melitele herself had granted him strength, and he was practically magnetised to his prey while hunting. Although, while his felt _good_ , better than good in fact. His mind felt sick, diseased. Shaking off the morbid thoughts, Niellan traced his finger around his maul lightly before his eyes widened, looking down, he found roughed and cracked wood. Perfect indents of his fingers around the handle…

The hunter sighed and threw the axe to the side, "Strange…" He muttered to himself before moving to grab a new block of wood, only to whirl around in surprise when the distinctive sound of someone clearing his throat rang out from somewhere behind him.

He span on his feet and recoiled a step when he found himself staring into a set of terrifying, golden slitted eyes. The eyes of a demon.

The young looking man stepped back, raising his hands in placating gesture in a show of good faith. "Apologies! Forgive me, are you the Hunter Niellan I've been looking for?" He asked politely with a disarming smile.

However Niellan found the smile far from disarming, as the young man's canines gleamed in the sunlight as if they were made of gold. Resettling his features, he stood straight and crossed his arms. "Yes, how did you know?"

The young man shrugged and gestured to the kids playing in a puddle across the street. "Ah, I have my ways." He stepped forwards and extended a hand, the hand that wasn't clad in some scary looking armour. "You may call me Valens, I hear you have need of a man with my talents."

Niellan frowned as he took the other man's hand, and then it hit him. The casual, confidant demeanour, the gauntlet, the giant and terrifying looking war axe on his back, the slitted, golden eyes and fangs. "A Witcher?..."

The other man merely grinned in response. "Guilty as charged. Now, to business then?"

Niellan felt his hopes soar and his heart flutter in exhilaration as he grasped the man's hand in both of his, "Yes! Yes thank you… Come inside, please."

* * *

Valens eyed his surroundings subtly as the man harried around his meagre kitchen in an effort to produce warm drink for his guest. _'A practical man, has no more than he needs, doesn't take trophies from his kills-'_ Valens spied a set of arrows on a table across the room, every shaft was stained with blood and the fletching, while neat, was ruffled with constant use. _'-despite the amount of kills he has made… Interesting.'_ He turned his attention back to the hunter who had just laid a mug of crisp looking coffee down in front of him; it actually made him salivate a little.

"Now Master Witcher-"

Valens held up a hand as he took a sip of his coffee and clicked his tongue in appreciation, "Just Valens please." He amended.

The Hunter bowed his head almost immediately in apology, "Forgive me sir! I di-"

"Niellan."

The gruff and commanding voice forced his head up, as if a spectre had wrenched his eyes up to meet the Witchers. "You need to relax, your hands are shaking, your eyes are tearing up, and your mind is addled with hope. I understand you are thankful, but I cannot settle a deal with a ram-shackle of a man, nor actually work with the information of one."

The hunter looked at him in confusion before looking down at his hands and noticing for the first time since meeting the Witcher, that he could not actually hold them still. Nodding slowly, the man closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, calling on every ounce of his hunting skills to slow his manic heart rate. After what felt like an age, the man opened his eyes and found the Witcher watching him carefully, occasionally taking a sip from the mug.

He inhaled one more time and shook his head slowly, "I am sorry, it's just that I never expected anyone to help, least of all a Witcher." He then frowned, "I am aware of the cost your services tax, but I can assure you I can pay."

Valens leaned forwards and placed his elbows on the table, "Talks of payment, after. Right now, tell me everything you know of your wife's disappearance, whether she ran-" He held up a hand at the mans affronted look. "-was taken, so on and so forth. I will then judge whether the case is worth taking and not some wild goose-chase."

At this, Niellan looked unsteady. Rubbing his face tiredly, the man cleared his through loudly. "There isn't much evidence Ma- Valens, I will not lie to you in order to secure your services." He looked up to gauge the Witcher's reaction, and was reassure by the collected, and cool gaze he received. Certain the man wasn't about to walk out that second, Niellan gathered his thoughts… and then spoke.

* * *

Valens paced slowly through the small cabin, basking in the bright sunlight that was beaming through the open window. "You're positive she didn't run-"

"Absolutely." Niellan interrupted, before looking away bashfully as the Witcher glared at him in irritation.

"-She left during the middle of the night, no signs of struggle nor foul play. However, she was acting strange?"

Niellan nodded slowly, "She was acting queerly around me and her sister, as if she was unsure about something." He restated.

Valens grunted in affirmation before his head suddenly perked up. He turned slowly to the hunter, who found himself becoming nervous under the intense gaze. "Last question, it will decide whether I take this job or not." He paused to let the statement sink in before he moved towards the window and began to stare out at the beautiful fields of Heatherton. "The lunar cycle, which stage would it have been on that night she disappeared?"

Niellan frowned in confusion, "Why would that have anything to do with her disappearance?"

"Answer the question Niellan." The Witcher nearly growled.

The hunter's frown deepened, but he did as asked. "I remember going hunting the night before, it was a waxing gibbous… so when she was taken; it would have been a-"

"Full moon…" Valens muttered quietly to himself.

Niellan nodded in confusion, "Yes. Forgive me but I still don't see the conn-"

"I'll take the job."

Niellan's eyes widened, "Truly? At what price?"

Valens turned and approached the man. "A half atop whatever you are offering me." He stated solidly.

Niellan sighed, yet agreed nonetheless. "One thousand and five hundred crowns then."

Valens whistled at this, "Quite a lot of money for a hunter to have, you must have been hauling quite well."

Niellan nodded disconcertedly, "The game around these parts are plentiful, but they seem less evasive than usual. Like something has em' spooked, they just run into traps and the like…" He trailed off awkwardly before shrugging. "Well, I'll get your money." The hunter stated before waltzing off into his bedroom and walking out with a hefty leather pouch of coin. Valens raised an amused brow at the man and chuckled softly as he took the coin.

The hunter looked at him curiously, an infectious, yet tentative smile appearing on his face. "What is it?"

Valens shook his head and tucked the money away, "It's just that if I was any less of the man I am, then I would kill you and take whatever else you have back there." He stated with a smirk. And just like that, Niellan's smile was gone. Valens turned a hard eye onto the man and narrowed his brow. "Don't ever do that again, you don't go around paying people full price before they complete the job provided-" He emphasised this by taking the pouch of coin out from his belt and throwing it back at the man, who caught it hurriedly. "-And do not, ever; let some random bounty hunter see where you keep your money." He admonished before turning on his heel and moving to mount his steed.

Niellan looked at the coin in his hand for a second before a bashful look appeared on his face, "Right… that makes sense… stupid…" He muttered to himself before walking back into his hut.

Valens, equipped with his superhuman hearing, snorted in amusement before urging Tug forwards… only to come to a sudden stop. Snapping his head to the left in a near supernatural manner, the Dragon Witcher narrowed his eyes at what looked to be a practically glowing scrap of cloth amongst the tall grass behind Niellan's cottage. Dismounting quickly, the Witcher vaulted over the fence with a graceful perfection and jogged up to the material. Unsheathing his dagger, he forked the cloth onto the end of his knife and peered at it with near glowing eyes. _'The lace from the bottom of a woman's dress, hand woven-'_ Hearing the softest of footfalls behind him, Valens' ears pricked once before he spun on his heel and leaped forwards to the spot where the stranger would exit the tall grass. He reached out with his gauntlet clad hand and pulled the interloper forward while simultaneously bring the knife up to bear against the now thoroughly startled hunter's neck, who in turn let out a yelp of surprise and jerked back in fright.

"Whoa! I'm sorry!" He shouted fearfully.

Valens glared at the man, "Do you mind not sneaking around me while my back is turned?" The Witcher snarled as he let the man go, making the hunter fall back as he was still pulling away when released.

Niellan rose to his feet and raised his hands in peace, "I saw you wandering around out here and though I cou-" His eyes locked onto the cloth that was still stuck on the end of Valens' knife. "-What is that? Is that Hanna's?"

Valens pursed his lips and shrugged, "I don't know, you tell me. Is this what she wears?"

Niellan nodded instantly, "That's her nightgown… I bought it for her on our anniversary, cost me a month's worth of hunting…" He stated as he plucked it out from knife.

Valens hummed in thought before sighing loudly in resignation.

Niellan looked up curiously, clutching the fabric protectively. "What is it?"

In response, Valens called tug and upon the ashen grey horse's arrival, he immediately began to rifle through the horse's saddlebags. He plucked out a few strange vials of concoctions before taking another empty vial and emptied a few drops of each into it, turning the solution within into a sickly yellow colour. Placing the other concentrates back into Tug's saddlebags, Valens then diluted the mixture with water and downed it in one gulp.

Niellan stared at the Witcher strangely, "What are you- Oh shit!" His inquiry was interrupted as he recoiled at seeing Valens' eyes begin to glow as his veins became more and more pronounced and a black, thick liquid began to course through them. The Witcher blinked rapidly and grit his teeth as the pain of his weak toxicity resistance began to take its toll on him. Snatching the cloth out from Niellan's hand, the Witcher brought it to his snout and inhaled deeply. Instantly, his vision began to swim with colours and within an instant, it came back to a sudden sharpness. Yet there was a strange glow emanating from the cloth, and it was trailing away quickly. Mounting Tug, Valens sent the horse into a canter as he chased the scent.

Soon enough, Valens found himself deep within the woods. Breaking through a copse of bushels, Valens and Tug found themselves within a small clearing, there was dry blood splattered over the trees. Copious amounts of it. And in the centre of the clearing was a flurry of tracks, as if a giant had stomped the mud repeatedly, splashing it everywhere.

Dismounting silently, the Dragon Witcher stepped lightly to the centre of the clearing, taking care not to disturb the tracks. The centre was a mess; almost nothing could be discerned from it. Almost…

There was a singular, massive, wolf-like print. The phalanges of the toes were long and clawed at the tip, half humanoid, half canine.

Reaching into his pouch, Valens pulled out a single page, the very same page from Hendrik's stash, depicting a single stalk of Wolfsbane, circled by rope.

Valens' eyes widened as the toxins from the potion wore out from a sudden, excited spike of adrenaline.

 _"Shit…"_

* * *

 ** _AN:_ ** It's exam times ladies and gentleshits. I decided to finish this chapter off before I get cracking with exam prep so here ya go. Sorry for the wait. Also, this is where the story is going to get a little gruesome as well as deviate from cannon a little. Don't worry, I'm not going to give Valens a lightsabre or anything akin to the notion, but there will be AU story mingled with cannon story. Which is the **best** kind of story... well, if the writer is decent, which I'm sincerely hoping is the case here. Rate and Review my lovely readers, next chapter should be up much sooner than the last.


	7. There is no such thing as Innocence

**"What is better? To be born** ** _good_** **, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"  
\- Paarthurnax**

* * *

Valens didn't speak as he stood motionless, still as a statue; his hand inching behind the small of his back to withdraw the razor sharp knife that rested there. His axe would be of no use in the confined space of the trees, and the wolves in front of him, currently investigating and nipping at the corpse lying face down would certainly take advantage of the fact.

Sliding the knife out of its sheath, the Dragon Witcher stepped forwards, making nary a sound. There was a single large wolf watching over the pack, the Alpha. A big black furred menace that towered over all of its betas. Unfortunately for it, it was the closest to the golden-eyed Witcher.

As if a monster had leapt out and snatched a child, the massive wolf was yanked backwards by both of its feet, leaving it yelping and screaming in surprise and fear as it was hauled up and put roughly in a windpipe crushing chokehold. Valens made to slit its throat and end its life mercifully in order to deal with the other wolves… when the rest of the pack just left; they ran as if the devil was chasing them; leaving their Alpha to die.

Valens frowned in confusion as he looked down at the struggling, terrified canine locked in a vice-like grip. "Huh, are you not the Alpha?" Naturally, was offered no response.

Not seeing a reason to end the beautiful creature's life, he dropped his hold and kicked it lightly, enticing it sprint away as fast as it could with an ashamed growl.

Brushing off his ringmail, Valens stepped forwards and flipped the corpse onto its back, only to sigh at the revelation. The young woman had been brutally mauled, there were claw marks that had gouged nearly four inches deep into her chest cavity. _'Werewolf…'_ He summarised. Fingering the deceased woman's dress softly, he sighed again, it was the same material that he found near Niellan's hut. "Hanna…"

Suddenly, Valens' head snapped up; his nose flaring angrily. Standing and pivoting on his foot, Valens slipped his knife away and drew his axe. Crouching down low, he crawled through forest; using his free hand as a third leg as he crept through the surrounding woods like a panther. He circled around Hanna's corpse in a moderate arc in order to come up behind the intruder, who had obviously been following him. Rising to his feet, he broke through the bushes gently, as if they weren't even there to lay eyes upon another woman who was now looking around anxiously; obviously confused as to where he had gone.

Feeling a sense of déjà vu as he crept up on the woman from the exact same spot he had nabbed the wolf, Valens grabbed his axe by its head and shaft and brought it over the woman's head, only to pull it tight against her neck. Her head smacked harshly against his stone-like chest and her larynx was placed under serious pressure as the chiselled axe shaft threated to grind her throat into her spine. Easing up on the pressure slightly, the Dragon Witcher leaned forwards and whispered quietly into the quivering woman's ear.

"Sneaking up on a Witcher is not a very good idea. Why are you following me?" He asked menacingly.

The woman whimpered softly, literally shivering in terror, she stuttered out her reply, "P-please! I'm Hanna's sister! I only wanted to speak with you."

Valens growled lowly in response as he considered the explanation before he shrugged and released the woman. Resting the axe-head on his shoulder, the Witcher cocked his head to the side as he glared at the woman. "Who are you?"

Instead of replying, the woman instead grabbed her throat and began to massage it gently, wincing in pain as she did so. Finally, she opened her eyes and glared straight back at the Witcher.

"Do you have no manners! Manhandling me like tha-" Her rant was cut short however when the man who had stepped back to give her space previously, now he was somehow staring her in the eyes… from barely an inch away; their noses almost touching. She wanted to flinch away in shock, outrage, fear… but it was for naught. It simply did not matter how strong her willpower was, or ever could have been. The golden, slitted eyes she was staring into were eternal. They radiated more power than she would ever witness in her entire lifetime, they radiated her hopes, her dreams, her nightmares… her death.

 **"If one more word comes out of that ugly mouth of yours, I will dissect your body and burn whatever little pieces are left."** He paused in order to let the threat sink in, no, the _promise_ sink in before he continued, in a much more subdued tone. "When I ask you a question, you answer me."

She began to nod frantically, which only served to irritate him more. Grabbing her head roughly, he held it in place. "Who. Are. You." This was no longer a simple question. It was a test. A matter of life and death.

"Margrit! My name is Margrit!" She shrieked hurriedly.

Recoiling at the volume, Valens let her go and stepped back. "Why are you following me?" He asked curtly.

Already having learnt her lesson, Margrit wasted no time in explaining. "I knew you would come here to find Hannah, I need you to understand! Niellan doesn't deserve this! He doesn't need to know about anything. He's such a kind, amazing man, he doesn't need the stress of learning her death!" She spilled frantically.

Valens' brow darkened as he observed her curiously. "You knew I would come here? Here of all places? Where her body was mauled?" He asked darkly.

Margrit's eyes widened in shock upon seeing Valens begin to raise his axe towards her, "NO! I didn't kill her! Please don't do this!" She stepped back, only to trip on her sister's corpse.

Valens cared not, however, as he stepped over the corpse and hovered the edge of his axe against Margrit's lips. "Touch the edge." He commanded.

Margrit looked up at him in confusion, "Wha-"

"Gods above woman, do it or your head rolls." He growled.

Not wanting to antagonize the Witcher, she complied with the strange request. Fearfully, she placed her fingers on the gleaming silver edge of the weapon, which was in stark contrast to the darkly coloured steel that made the rest of the axe. She looked up at the Witcher in confusion, who was now frowning dangerously.

"It's not you…" He muttered distantly. He then turned to look at her, "Who killed her? Who is the beast?"

Margrit felt tears begin to course down her cheeks, she had contemplated feigning ignorance. However the Witcher was too keen, he would see through it. Alas… "Niellan… It's Niellan. I've just tried to keep him safe, keep him innocent."

Valens hummed thoughtfully. _'Ah… and the plot unravels. It makes sense, I doubt the poor man even knows.'_

Turning on his heel, Valens began to walk briskly away. His sights set on the Hunter. He shook his head sadly at the distressed wailing emanating from behind him.

"NO! Please don't hurt him! He didn't know! Please master I beg of you!"

 _'This job never gets any easier does it?'_ The Dragon Witcher asked himself as he barricaded his mind against the desperate screams.

* * *

It was a mess. The table was in pieces, the chairs had been thrown against the wall, the bed was flipped over and all the bottles were smashed. Valens looked around warily and flourished his left hand resulting in the space around it warping strangely for a second before it settled.

Almost as if it was a sign from the divines, Valens' golden eyes spied a single, small leather-bound book, the blood that was splattered across the open page nearly gleamed in the light of the sun as it lay open on the floor. Treading up to it softly, Valens knelt and picked it up.

The handwriting was neat, yet simple. No educated person had written in the book, which he now realised was a diary or journal. Skimming the page that the book was opened to, Valens almost made to turn the page when what he read suddenly clicked in his mind.

 _'T'is a full moon tonight, meaning that Niellan will be runnin' off again in the middle of the night. He's become so strange, the last full moon he nearly killed me! Punched me and then stormed off, his eyes were wild. The morn after, I saw him dozing outside, he remember nothin'. I wanna tell 'im, but, should I?_

 _I hope tonight will be different, I hope he-… oh god he's awake. Melitele have me-'_

The rest of the page was merely spilled ink and blood…

Standing slowly, Valens tossed the diary onto a nearby dresser that hadn't been destroyed. "Seems Niellan found this-" Looking around warily, the Witcher sighed. "-and stormed out in a shock induced rage."

Growling lowly, the Witcher exit the small hut and his eyes locked onto the distressed dirt outside the house. He quickly distinguished between his own tracks and Niellan's, and with another tired grumble, began to follow.

* * *

 ** _Dawn…_**

He was a deceptively dangerous looking man with his huddled form. His leather breeches tucked into felt hide boots spoke volumes of his wisdom pertaining to the forest, no decent hunter worth his salt ever wore anything that could potentially numb his feet too much against the dry twigs and leaves of the forest floor. The bow leaning against the tree was powerful, a yew longbow looking to be of a seventy to ninety pound draw weight, requiring immense back strength to even draw it full bore. His upper body was bare aside from a various number of scars and deep scratches across his lean torso. His hair was wild and curly, his beard surprisingly clean, though also wild and thick. His face was angular, and decidedly wolfish, as per the course as usual. Valens spied on the moping man for a few minutes longer, watching the sullen look in his eyes as he stared into the fire, observing the listless fingers and hunched position. This man was broken. Stepping into the light, he waited for Niellan to notice him.

The hunter looked up, his nostrils flaring slightly. He didn't seem surprised to find the Witcher standing there, watching him, like the reaper himself. "Master Witcher… I shan't trouble you with that job no more." He stated with a small, sad smile as he tossed the Witcher a large bag of coin. "That's all I have, I hope it's enough for your services."

Grabbing the airborne bag, The Witcher looked at him curiously.

Niellan stood and turned around, away from the fire. "I do have one more job for you, however Master Witcher." He stated solemnly, slowly, he lowered himself to his knees and hung his head. "Would you please execute the monster, who murdered his own wife? Forgive me for leading you on the wild goosechase." He looked up, as if considering something, before shaking his head and lowering it again. "I jus' didn't wanna believe it."

Valens grunted in understanding. "Do you know why you killed your wife?"

The hunter said nothing, still not looking up from the ground, where he awaited his death.

"You are a Werewolf, a cursed man, forced to transform when the moon is at its strongest. Your inner, bestial nature takes over, that need to kill, dominate and feed." The Witcher explained as he walked around the fire to where Niellan was kneeling.

At this, the hunter looked up in disbelief. Only to scream in pain as Valens rested the edge of his axe against his neck. His nails grew into wickedly sharp claws, his eyes shifted colours from a gentle brown to an animalistic yellow, and his hair began to lengthen and turn from brown to silver. However, it all disappeared almost instantly as Valens removed the axe-head. Panting with the stress of the change, Niellan looked up to Valens pleadingly. "Please, don't tell me she saw me like this. Don't tell me I killed her like this!" He shouted desperately. He searched the Witchers face for an answer, for any hope that he was somehow lying. However, Valens only closed his eyes and looked away.

Niellan felt tears build up in the corners of his eyes; he didn't stop them when they fell. Burying his head into the hard dirt, he began to sob.

Valens said nothing as he watched. "You can't have changed on your own Niellan, you must have been bitten." He frowned as Niellan began to bash his head against the earth, trying to divert the pain away from his wounded heart. Hauling the man back up onto his feet by a strong arm, golden eyes locked onto brown, forcing him out of his stupor. "Niellan, there might be others out there like you, there could be a dangerous animal who does in fact enjoy killing, something that is nothing like you. You need to help me; I have to exterminate this creature before it hurts anyone else." He explained as firmly as he could.

Niellan's eyes widened, "There's another one?"

Valens nodded, "And to turn you, he'll have to be a big, bad, evil motherfucker who seriously intended to turn you, not kill."

Niellan stared at Valens before inhaling deeply in order to settle himself. "I-I wasn't bitten by anything." He stepped away from Valens as the Witcher began to frown at him. "I swear it Valens, I have no cause to lie to you. I wasn't bitten; I saw nothing out of the ordinary."

Valens shook his head, "That can't be, you must have been turned somehow. A curse, or a ritual, or a bite… Anything!" He snapped a glare onto the Hunter. "Comb your mind for anything that you did, saw or felt. It would have been on a full moon, anything strange, even in the slightest bit."

Niellan immediately began to shake his head, "I can't remember anything, honestly Valens, nothing comes to mind." He watched helplessly as the Witcher growled angrily and sat down on the log he himself had been sitting on, and took a long swig from his canteen. Niellan frowned as he watched the water trickle into the Witcher's mouth. "Wait-" Valens stopped drinking and his eyes snapped to Niellan. "I remember, three months ago. I was stalking a deer and fell down a large ravine in the forest, my leg was trapped in some vines. I was going to simply cut them away when I heard something behind me. There was a cave in the ravine, cut into the side of the cliff-face and a massive black bear was prowling around, it stayed there for hours before going back inside. I dared not move, my mouth was parched and my stomach rumbling. There was water next to me, a tiny puddle, I drank from it and a few minutes later I passed out. Came to in the morn and found myself miles away, deep in the forest somewhere." He looked up at Valens, who was peering at him in concentration. "Do you think it could have been the other monster? Could he have done something to me?"

Valens frowned, "You said you weren't bitten?" At Niellan's nod, he shook his head. "No, the only way for another Lycan to turn you is through a bite. That water you drank, was there anything off about it? Was there some strange… object or plant in the water?"

Niellan shook his head, "Nay, it did look like a damned bear print however. I thought it was where the thing has pissed before I realised it was water captured in the depression."

The Hunter recoiled as Valens suddenly rocketed to his feet, his mind racing. _'That seems familiar. Drink the rainwater spilled from the heavens on the four-hundred and third full moon out of the paw print of an Alpha and either die an agonising death, or steal the gift of Fenrir from another.'_

"I need to speak with Geralt…" He murmured to himself quietly.

Niellan frowned at the Witcher, "I didn't catch tha- What is that?" Valens looked up as the man suddenly interrupted himself, Niellan was looking around apprehensively, his eyes wide and nostrils flaring as he peered into the darkness. "Master Valens there's something here…"

Valens frowned as he hefted his axe onto his shoulder, "How can you tell?" Even as he asked, the Witcher began to focus on his breathing. He forced his heart rate down to a saddening crawl in an effort to stabilise his mind.

"I dunno, I can just feel that there's someone here." The hunter whispered.

However, to Valens, it now sounded like he was shouting. His eyes roved the dark shrubs and trees around them before they slowly locked on to an irregular shape, darker than the rest of its surroundings. He could hear its breath, the quick yet steady rise and fall of its chest, the barely audible heartbeat that was pumping like a mill inside its chest. Turning his body to face it, Valens made himself very, very aware. "You're right. There is _something_ here. In fact; its right there." He stated lowly, raising a gauntlet clad finger in the beast's direction.

Niellan directed his gaze to where the Witcher was indicating and recoiled in surprise and fear. A giant mass of black stood terrifyingly close, it's eyes glinting in the light of the fire. Stooping down, he grabbed his longbow and withdrew an arrow from his quiver, looking up, he almost let out a shout of shock upon seeing the beast had fully emerged from the darkness and stood a mere forty or so feet from the small fire. Looking at Valens for direction, Niellan found the Witcher to be staring hard at the Werewolf; however upon closer inspection he actually saw that the monster hunter was scanning the darkness slowly with his eyes.

"What should we do?" he asked in a, despite his strongest attempts, frantic voice.

Valens grunted softly, "That grunt is too small to be of any concern to me. Nothing more than a beta or omega. However, it signifies another problem…" He trailed off as he turned his head to scan the forests behind them.

Anxious as he was, Niellan found the pause to be infuriating. "What problem!" He whispered harshly, only to look away abashed as the Witcher settled a firm glare on him.

"Calm yourself, you'll be of no use to anyone as panicked as you are." Satisfied that their rear was clear, he turned his eyes back onto the brown coated monster who still hadn't moved from where he had stepped out of the forest. "If he is a beta, then he would never expose himself like this without being certain his Alpha was close by. However I don't sense anything else besides this one."

Hearing the soft creak of wood being stretched, Valens turned his head just in time to catch Niellan with his bow at full draw. "Do you believe you're ready for the hell you're about to unleash, you'll need to stay behind me. If it gets to you, you're dogfood."

In response, the hunter let loose.

The razor sharp broad head designed for cleaving through the thick hide of game whistled as its fletching carved through the air enroute to its target. The powerful yew longbow cracked as its limbs snapped back into place, in what seemed to be an instant, the arrow smashed into the middle of the hulking Lycan's chest, likely shattering the sternum and closing the pathway air took in its route to the lungs. The beast howled in pain as it clawed at the thick wooden shaft piercing through its body.

It ripped at its own chest in an effort to rid itself of the projectile, only managing to dig it out after suffering a tremendous amount of bloodloss. Snarling in utter fury, the cursed raised its head to growl out a challenge. However its growl turned into a startled whimper as the keening, silver lined edge of a Witcher's axe severed its upper half from its lower. The perfectly placed strike cleaved through the beast's left elbow first as if butter, then continued on through its skin and in between the ribs before smashing apart the vertebrae of the spine and mirroring the actions on the other side. The resistance was so minuscule, Valens was forced to pivot at the hips in an effort to halt his weapon.

There were two small thuds as the fur-clad arms fell to the ground, and then one meaty sounding smack half a second later as the upper half of the corpse, now sizzling due to contact with silver toppled off of its lower half.

Snorting in contempt, the Witcher made to clean his blade, however found it to his convenience to be clean of blood. Slinging the Danish war axe over his back, the Witcher made his way back to Niellan.

The Hunter was currently eyeing the Witcher wearily, more so the Witcher's axe, to be frank. He had just watched the man cleave through something that was essentially identical to him with barely any effort. "W-what now?" He closed his eyes briefly as he cursed himself internally for slipping up.

The Witcher let out an amused breath from his nose and looked up at the moon. It would be several days until the moon became whole. "Well, for one, you go home for now. I still have need of you, do **_not_** leave the town, I will return the following morn; If I find you gone when I return then pray for a quick death." The Witcher stated as he pulled out an empty vial and his saxe knife.

Niellan frowned, "How can you leave me alone with the villagers? You said yourself that I cannot control it!"

Valens shrugged indifferently, "You only change on a full moon, it's when the lunar energy is concentrated enough to penetrate your skin and activate the curse. You should be fine for a week or so, besides, like I said you'll be alone for a few hours only." The Wiedźmin explained.

Sighing in tension, the hunter nodded. "Aye…" Eyeing the vial and knife, he perked a brow. "What's that for?"

Valens grinned, "Insurance."

"Insurance?"

"Insurance." He confirmed. "Hold out your hand."

Knowing enough to not argue with the axe-toting monster hunter, Niellan stuck out his arm gingerly, and winced as the hair-shaving sharp blade flicked across his wrist, spilling blood everywhere. "Hey!-" He made to retract his arm when the Witcher suddenly grabbed it roughly and held him still.

Carefully positioning the clear vial under a steady stream of blood that was trickling down his arm, Valens filled it to the brim with blood. "Before you shout out indignantly, this will be used to track your scent."

The hunter withdrew his arm protectively and glared at the Witcher, "Surely you shan't need that much! Also, I'll need to bleed for you to track me regardless."

Valens only smirked in response, "Ah well, can't be too sure." Swirling the blood around in its vial, he observed it before tucking it away into his belt pouch. "And…" he continued, "Combined with that little mixture I took earlier, you won't need to be actively leaking blood for me to track you now."

Niellan looked slightly put off by the revelation, however conceded that due to his condition, the notion wasn't absurd.

"Very well Master Valens, I will not leave the house." He stated.

Valens grunted as he gestured vaguely in the direction of the village. "Go now."

Nodding in farewell, the cursed hunter gathered his belongings and made for the darkness.

Valens waited several minutes before letting out a low, lazy whistle from the side of his lips. A few moments later, the steady clopping of horseshoe on solid ground could be heard in the darkness behind him.

Valens set his lips in a grim line. _'Next stop; the Hanged Man's tree.'_

* * *

 **AN:** Ayy, sorry for the wait. I actually have a good reason this time, I swear.

Military testing, (Heading towards Combat Engineering and then hopefully Special forces Commando Engineering Regiment), exams and training took up most of my time. I passed my entry exams to the military with flying colours, fucking aced em'. Ah well, I'll be busy until the 19th of November, as that's when my schooling finishes with the final exam which is Physics for me. Should be easy. Anyway, the story diverts a little here as you can all probably tell. Bear with me, I have a feeling this story arc will turn out to be pretty eventful and action packed. For the meanwhile, we'll see whether I get the time to finish off another chapter before exams start.


	8. The Alpha

**"Stand in the ashes of a trillion dead souls and ask the ghosts if honour matters. The silence is your answer…" – Javik**

* * *

Geralt frowned as he ran his finger down the fuller of his silver blade, waiting for his accomplice's arrival. The first fingers of the sun could be seen piercing out from the horizon; it was the sheer crack of sunrise.

As if on cue, his ears pricked as his mutant senses picked up a distant clopping of hoof on tightly packed earth, the gait was familiar. A fluid, staccato clopping sound, one associated with the purebreds of Zerrikania. _'That must be Valens.'_ The elder Witcher surmised as he stood from his crouch, dusting off his knees as he did so. Regardless of how small the movement had been, he immediately heard a low snort, which made him smirk knowingly. Had any other heard it, they would have assumed it to simply be a horses snort. However, as a Witcher, he knew that the low rumble was far too forced and lower pitched than usual. Tug was letting his master know that there was a humanoid ahead.

Stepped away from the tree from which several men swung in the breeze, Geralt raised a hand in greeting upon catching sight of the Dragon Witcher. "Have you found whatever you were looking for?" He asked gruffly.

In response, Valens grunted and dismounted as his horse was still moving, having to jog quickly to avoid being put off balance. "Aye, we've got werewolves; an Alpha or Theta somewhere in the vicinity of the town Heatherton." He stated abruptly.

Geralt sighed softly, "God damn it. Anyone injured?"

Valens grunted again and turned to observe the sunrise as he answered. "A hunter named Niellan has been turned; drank the rainwater from the footprint of an Alpha. He slaughtered his wife during the last full moon in the forest somewhere and has been looking for her ever since; poor bastard." The younger Wiedźmin said with a slight grimace.

Geralt let out a deep breath from his nose and cocked his head at the young raven haired man, "And your plan is?..." He probed.

Instead of answering immediately, Valens clicked his tongue, causing Tug to clop up towards him before mounting. "We're gonna go take out the Alpha, and then take care of Niellan. He's too much of a threat to be left alone."

Geralt grunted before moving to untie Roach and saddle up, "Especially if he was turned by a damned Alpha." He added sulkily.

Shifting his head at this, Valens raised a brow. "What do you mean by that?"

Moving up beside Valens, Geralt shrugged. "Means if he feeds enough, he in time will turn into an Alpha; or if he doesn't find a pack, a Theta." He then hummed quietly to himself in thought, "Likely an Alpha however, to become the mate of the other Alpha." He stated quietly.

Valens frowned at this, "Aren't Alpha's predominantly male? They normally slaughter female contenders…"

Geralt chuckled softly, "Uh huh, it would be a display of dominance rather than mating."

Valens found himself confused for a second before it dawned upon him. Before he had the chance to voice his shock, Geralt placed boot to flank and kicked off towards the village of Heatherton, leaving his accomplice behind utterly flabbergasted.

* * *

Geralt ran a tongue over his teeth as he watched Valens palm his face in absolute irritation. He was standing in what was obviously a hunter's cottage, evident by the heavy longbow and various skinning and preserving materials lying around, unfortunately for them, this cottage was absent its hunter.

"I'm lucky there isn't a cliff to jump off of too close to here, or you might have a Witcher pancake on your hands, Geralt." The raven haired man grumbled angrily as he kicked a chair idly. "Why are things never simple?"

Geralt shrugged indifferently, "Looks like there had been a struggle…" He began before Valens raised his hand to cut him off.

"Nah, this is the aftermath of him figuring out what had happened to his wife. He read her diary." He explained.

Geralt hummed in understanding before patting his front down and gesturing to the door expectantly. "Well, lead on." He stated with a deadpan stare, as if daring the other Witcher to say ' _I don't know where he went…'_

Valens stared at him for a second before grinning, "Smart fucker aint'chya?" He asked as he withdrew a small vial from his belt filled with crimson liquid.

Geralt caught it deftly with just two fingers and turned it over in the light in the very same motion, "His, I presume?" At Valens' nod, he sighed and dug around in his satchel for two tiny bulbous vial filled with some strange liquid glowing an eerie, sickly yellow colour and made to give one to Valens when he noticed that the other Witcher had already mounted and trotted away a few feet. Upon seeing the few beads of sweat dripping down Valens' forehead, Geralt groaned in annoyance.

"Ready to follow your lead cap'n! Hehe, heh…." The Dragon Witcher shouted hurriedly before trailing off awkwardly as he eyed the little vial in Geralt's hand with utter trepidation.

Grunting in a mixture of amusement and impatience, the Wolven Witcher bit off the tiny cork and shoved the potion down his throat; only to almost choke in disbelief when he heard a horrified squeal of terror come from the muscle-bound axe-toting maniac who was currently doing his best to stop the sudden cringing that had overtaken him.

"Seriously what the fuck is wrong with you?" Geralt asked with a slight snarl.

Valens only shook his head in response in disbelief. "Didn't even dilute the fucking thing, the man's half mad!" He whispered to his horse, who rolled a baleful eye at his master. He looked up just in time to see the White Wolf grunt and spin Roach on a dime before kicking off at a gallop. Valens watched him go for a few seconds before shaking off the dread down his spine and spitting out the accumulating saliva in his mouth; flicking Tug's ear softly, he said one word. "Go." And the stones of the cobbled road cracked as the hooves of a Zerrikanian smoke-trotter exploded from them.

* * *

They were deep in the forest, a good five hours journey into the thick of the trees before they came across their first observation.

"Geralt, there's something ahead. Canines."

The man being addressed nodded, "I can smell them too, we're upwind of them." He concluded.

Valens frowned, "That's not right…" He mumbled quietly, to which Geralt grunted in assent.

"Yeah, they would never put themselves upwind within the direction of a nearby settlement, this isn't the beasts' doing." He hinted knowingly.

Valens' frown deepened before he let out an audible breath. "That Wolfsbane tether, Hendrik's journal states that he travelled near Heatherton. He must have caught sight of it here." He said intently.

Geralt sighed, "It seems we have some idiot playing dolls with werewolves. This never ends well." He exclaimed tiredly, before trekking on further into the brushes.

After a couple of minutes, the broke into what looked to be a large clearing, a den or cave of sorts broken into the base of a large boulder. A humanoid wolf-like figure sat upon the stone, dozing off lightly yet still somewhat alert. Other smaller wolves moved around the clearing, occasionally scuffling with each other while on watch.

Geralt turned to Valens and nodded to the wolves, before taking out his hand crossbow and loading a single silver bolt, laced with Wolfsbane into the groove. Rolling his eyes, the Dragon Witcher withdrew his knife from the small of his back and skirted to the side. Where the first pup trod the ground in unease. It knew something was afoot. Valens had to force himself from cursing when the grey furred cur retreated quickly, moving to stand beside its kin. The three non lycans were now in a semi cluster, one was off on the far end of the clearing while the other two were huddled together, eyeing the surrounding forest with wary eyes.

Restraining a solidly pissed off growl that would have alerted everything within a two mile radius, Valens crept back to Geralt, and without stopping slipped the White Wolf's knife out of its sheath, and completely ignored the mans irritated glare. _'Should start keeping a dagger in my boot.'_ Upon immediately finishing that thought, he was assaulted by the vision of a gruff looking man wearing a helmet adorned with horns, face palming aggressively as he watched a scruffy, dirty looking bandit repeat the very same thing he had just thought. "Stupid bandits, always say the same damn shit…

… ** _YOL!_** " And just as suddenly, the vision ended. Valens recoiled slightly, _'The fuck was that?'_

Shrugging it off, the Dragon Witcher crept up to the third wolf, expertly weaving into its blind spots as the large canine swung its meaty head around to gaze into the surrounding forests. It was lucky that the whelp tasked with guard duty was arrogantly asleep, and the other two wolves had their line of sight blocked by the boulder, for Valens might have popped a blood vessel in righteous fury, Instead, the Witcher found himself several feet behind the wolf itself, who was now looking at its superior in thought.

Turning and nodding to Geralt, who he could barely make out in the bushes, Valens placed his dagger in between his teeth, reached forwards, clamped the canine's snout shut and slipped Geralt's silver dagger in between the ribs of the animal. Snuffing out its life painlessly and instantaneously.

However, it didn't matter how quiet he was; for the scent of blood drew the attention of everything in the clearing. The beta lycanthrope raised its head in alarm immediately, just a whistling bolt of silver slammed into its forehead. Crunching through the bone and embedding itself into the beast's brain. Valens grimaced at the sight; the skull bone had completely cracked, caving in on itself with the bolt. It looked downright disgusting. However his job wasn't finished, as the two servant wolves appeared from either side of the boulder, he spat his dagger into his empty hand and with quick flip to hold them both at their hilts; he let the two daggers, one silver, one cabled steel, soar from an underhanded spear throw. He was going for speed and precision here, which is why the blades he threw span from blade to spine, and not tip to pommel, the corkscrew motion provided higher accuracy, and extreme speed in the place of power.

The two blades sunk into their targets with barely a whisper, the first wolf simply dropped mid-stride, slumping into the dirt; the second had barely rounded the corner before a dagger to the eye socket sent it tumbling around off balance for a second before Geralt stepped up and with a quick twist, severed the poor creature's vertebrae.

Geralt sighed, "Poor things, they would have been coerced into serving them."

Valens shrugged and pulled his knife out of the first wolf. "Unfortunate for them, not much we could have done however."

Geralt nodded, "Yeah, let's go. Unless you have a plan?" He asked, pausing at the entrance of the den.

Valens shook his head, "Priority for you is the fucker controlling the mutts, chop her up good. I'm downing a cat to heighten my reflexes." He replied.

Geralt frowned, "Is that a good idea? You know how garbage your toxicity resistance is…" He warned cautiously.

Valens snarled at the man, "Yeah, yeah, fuck off will you? I'm diluting the damn thing." He muttered snarkily. As he poured a vial of green liquid into his water skin and downed the entire thing.

Geralt watched as the other Witcher tensed in pain and extreme unease as the cat worked its way into his bloodstream before shaking his head in disbelief and moving into the den, silver Witcher sword in hand and a faint purple glow in his off hand.

Valens waited ten or so second before following, and when inside he pressed up against the wall and waited for a minute. No good to clamp up inside and equally as bad to fall for a delayed flank from other hostiles. After satisfied with his rear entrance being secure, and wishing that his master had taught him 'Yrden' the Dragon Witcher followed his elder's trail and in time came across quite a substantial cave. Several Lycans lay resting in the cave, all in their beast forms, which was strange as the full moon wasn't for days. To his left he sensed Geralt shifting, although he couldn't see the White Wolf, he could hear the man's extremely mute heartbeat. _'The man's barely even awake! How in the world is he so damn calm?'_ shrugging away the thought, he moved over to Geralt's position and found the man belly down, watching the scene with keen eyes.

"We have a problem… an Alpha, a Theta and three Beta's; as well as a woman, potential caster." Geralt informed in an almost dead silent tone.

Valens nodded; he could not replicate the speech. It was done using 'Quen' to block the air vibration from travelling forwards, and instead die against the shield.

Valens replied with a series of hand signs, _'I distract enemy. You kill leader.'_ Was the base message he managed to get across. He made to stand and approach the group of Lycans when he caught sight of the Theta. It was a slim, streamlined looking Werewolf with gleaming silver hair, who was currently being comforted by a blonde haired woman with her back to him. He turned around and held a hand up, _'Careful silver one, he is speed, can't win fight.'_ Geralt looked back at him dubiously, however nodded.

Valens exhaled slowly, taking on that many werewolves was suicide. He was relying on his reflexes and their slow, brute strength. However a Theta with a taste for the fast life would reduce his chances to a rock zero.

Squaring his shoulders, Valens stepped forwards with a confident stride; immediately alerting every creature in the vicinity. Every beast rose to stand on their hind legs and growl, slowly approaching menacingly when suddenly; they all stopped with a single grunt emanating from the huge, navy blue furred behemoth that was the Alpha.

Valens smirked knowingly upon seeing the thread of rawhide and Wolfsbane acting as a collar around the Alpha's neck. It was the woman's pawn, and through him, all of the wolves were her pawns just as well.

The woman huffed haughtily, and Valens felt his spine tingle upon hearing her voice.

"You just don't leave well enough alone, do ya' Master Witcher?" A furious and extremely familiar voice rang out from the other side of the cave.

Valens chuckled softly, "You have got to be fucking kidding me... You?"

The woman turned, and presented herself to the Dragon Witcher. "I told you to leave us be, I told you that you were hurting an innocent man." Margrit replied, a scowl etched upon her face.

Valens shook his head as he took in the snarling Werewolves before him. "Do you have any idea, what kind of mess you have got yourself into? All it takes is one particularly strong full moon, just one. And you, my dear, are dog food." He warned.

Margrit smirked at him, "I've survived many full moons, Witcher. Do you think me a novice?" She asked, grabbing the side of the Theta's head, who also wore a collar and pulling it towards her own.

Valens snorted in contempt. "Where is Niellan?" He asked forcefully.

At this Margrit laughed. "Hah!" She turned to the silver Werewolf and pointed to Valens. "Go my love! Show him where Niellan is!"

At this, the silver furred beast stepped forwards and let loose a roar of terrifying hunger. Margrit's laughter echoed along with the roar of the best, and at her frantic shrieks of ' _KILL HIM!'_ Valens swallowed thickly as every single creature made a B-line for his head.

Slamming his axe into the ground, Valens clapped his hands together, made two circles with his fingers and placed them against his lips, his Mentor's words echoing through his mind as he did so.

 ** _'There is a reason why we Dragon Witchers undertake the Trial of Demons, and not the Trial of grasses. It is because it allows thy mortals to unlock thine true potential. I teach you two of the greatest powers a Dragon possesses, his breath, and his will. These are not Witcher signs, young Wyrmling, but innate skills all Dragons possess. Take breath, feel the heat, and incinerate thy foes."_**

With that thought in mind, the Dragon Witcher sucked in a breath, and winced as he felt it turn to literal liquid fire within his gullet before, with a roar of defiance, he exhaled the super-heated flame directly into the face of the beta that had charged him head first, maw agape to tear out his throat; and now instead of flesh and blood, it shrieked in pain the fire of Dragons engulfed its entire head.

It barrelled forwards beside him, already half dead, only its momentum carrying it forwards and Valens used that moment to blast the other beta away with an Aard and made to dodge the attack of the third one when he found the beast a couple feet away, struggling to maintain motion as purple strands of magic held it in place. Breathing a silent prayer of thanks to his companion, Valens made to lop off the creatures had when he was suddenly smashed aside by a huge claw. Tumbling into a roll, the Witcher stood and winced as he held his bruised ribs, just as the beta finally broke through the Yrden Geralt had hit it with and both the Alpha and Beta began to approach.

He looked around for the second beta and saw that it was slumped against the wall of the cave, its tongue lolling out of its mouth and a crossbow bolt sticking out of its chest. He saw Geralt across from him, making his way to Margrit when he was forced to throw up a hasty Quen in order to repel the attack of Niellan, who had charged him at a frightening speed.

Trusting Geralt to handle himself, Valens turned his attention back onto the two angry Lycans approaching him. Deciding to not corner himself against the wall of the cave, he jumped forwards and with his left hand ducked under the Beta's retaliatory swipe and with his own clawed gauntlet made by Bras of Ban Ard, he dug his spiky fingers into the beast's foot; ripping out a phalange as he pulled back to avoid the much more deadly strikes of the Alpha, the Cat potion helping, although not as much as it could have in its weakened brew.

The Beta screeched in anger and made to flank him, however Valens did everything he could to make sure he was NOT fighting a battle of two fronts, moving and weaving around so he was facing the duo at all times.

He wasn't fighting humans here, whereas normally, he would stride forwards and slip his axe into the bodies of his enemies with ease, to attack one would leave him open for a split second. And for a Werewolf, that is all which is needed. The only attacks he made were counter-attacks. Quick cuts and slashes to the arms and chest when either overextended, which as mindless beasts, they did a lot.

Finally, he found his opening. The Alpha had stepped back, ready for a leap or charge and capitalising on the moment, Valens stepped forwards to deliver to the Beta his first full powered swing of the entire fight. Unprepared for such an aggressive attack, the cursed creature raised a hand in defence but simply watched as the gleaming silver axe head slugged through its fingers like twigs and slammed deep into its sternum. It screeched in pain and made to pull back, however the Witcher held him firm, and upon seeing the Alpha swing his fist in a huge arc towards him, instead ducked and heaved on the axe shaft; forcing the Beta into the Alpha's strike.

Valens watched as the heavily muscled forearm and razor tipped claws buried into the Beta's cranium like five drills. There was no resistance… none, whatsoever.

He recoiled at the power of the blow and quickly removed his axe from the extremely deceased werewolf before backing up to gain some distance. Looking over, he watched as Geralt held up a hand and all of a sudden, Niellan ceased his attack, instead reaching for his head and convulsing wildly, a white cascade of smoke pouring from his mouth as the Axii struggled to take effect. He could watch no longer however as he was forced to deflect the snapping jaws of the Alpha with the shaft of his axe and roll away to a safe distance. _'Come on Geralt!...'_

* * *

Geralt grunted in exertion as he smashed the pommel of his silver sword into the silver Lycan's jaw before retaliating with a quick downwards cut. The cut was superficial, but served to make the Werewolf angry as it roared at him and renewed its assault. Geralt expertly weaved through the attacks, parrying what he could, but the wolf was fast. Extremely so, it was only his Quen keeping him safe from harm at the moment. Looking across, he watched as Valens ducked down and essentially broke the smaller beast's foot with his hand before leaping away. He was employing hit and run tactics, making sure to not leave himself open to attack.

Geralt snorted, "Of course he has to make sure he doesn't get hit. Idiot can't use Quen." He grumbled as he swerved out of the way of a meaty palm strike and directed the jaws away from his throat with a hasty Aard.

The White and Silver wolves duelled with each other for a few minutes before a loud shriek of pain tore both of their attention away from their battle. Geralt watched as Valens yanked the Beta into the Alpha, who for all intent and purposes, punched its own kin's head clean off. The walls to their right became stained with red as the mangled head of the Beta slammed into it with a sickening squelch.

Geralt frowned, _'He's not going to fare too well against a damned Alpha by himself, that spell needs to go!'_

Looking back at the silver Lycan, who was eyeing him dangerously; Geralt grunted in resolution. Stepping forwards, he entered the Werewolf's attack range, and smirked as his opponent took the bait. The beast raised its left arm and made to tear into Geralt when the Witcher suddenly stepped into the strike and with a pirouette, slipped under the wolf's raised arm; feeling his silver sword cleave through the abdomen of the Lycan as he perfectly executed a sheathing lunge. Withdrawing his sword before it got stuck there, the White Wolf stepped back and raised a hand; slamming the retaliating Werewolf with an Axii, forcing it to yield before he turned to the woman who was watching the fight tentatively. Upon seeing Geralt gaze upon her, she made to scream for help.

Flipping his sword up into a javelin style grip, Geralt pulled back and slung it forwards; only to instantly recover and raise his other hand, from which he expelled a powerful Aard; which served a propulsion for the sword as its speed increased two-fold and cleaved apart the air as it streaked towards Margrit.

Margrit could only watch, horror etched upon her face as the gleaming silver sword sliced cleanly through the middle of both her hands and proceeded to slice its way through her throat and out the back of her neck. The force of the throw and placement of the blade made her entire upper body reel back, only for the sword to land point first into the rock and prop her up. Bent over backwards at an unnatural angle with her hands stapled to her throat by a Witcher's longsword, she made for a gruesome sight.

Geralt turned back just in time to catch Valens being hurled into the wall of the cave, the stone cracking off and falling to the floor where his back connected and a loud grunt emanating from the man as the air escaped his lungs. Geralt made to run to his aid when the silver wolf suddenly broke free of his Axii and stood once again, growling angrily.

Strangely, it did not attack. Instead, it grabbed the choker around its neck and ripped it off with anger before slooping down to assess the human before it… that was until a snarl of hatred from behind it caught its attention. The silver Lycan turned and upon spotting the towering monster of a Werewolf, let loose a furious roar filled with the deepest, primal emotions of rage. It charged forwards with reckless abandon. Slamming into the side of the Alpha and sending them both toppling over in a skidding mess of teeth and claws. As the two faced off with each other, Geralt swiftly made his way to Valens side, where the Dragon Witcher was nursing a deep claw wound the to the stomach.

"Hey, you alright?" The elder Witcher asked as he moved Valens' hand to examine the wound.

Valens grunted, "Of course, he nicked my lung. Having trouble breathing." He said in between pained breaths.

Geralt clicked his tongue and instinctively flinched as the two wolves behind him clashed together in a screeching whirlwind of blood and gnashing jaws. Geralt turned to observe the fight, to interfere would be unwise. The swarm of attacks being exchanged would tear him apart should he step in; it would simply be wiser to kill whichever wins. Valens thought so as well, as he pulled out a diluted swallow potion and took a leisurely sip.

Geralt watched as Brute strength battled sheer speed. The few hits the Alpha landed were destructive, breaking bones and carving flesh, while the many hits the Theta managed to squeeze in was bleeding out the Alpha like a stuck pig.

They had stopped their mad rush into each other, both recognising that it was doing them no good. The Alpha, although slow, was smart. It made sure to attack whenever the Theta struck, for it knew its own offensive capabilities did a lot more damage than its opponents. The Theta in turn employed a masterful use of countering attacks; snapping at the hands after a missed swipe, and slicing off chunks when the Alpha was too slow to turn and defend its flanks.

The Theta, in a sudden fit of fury unleashed of flurry of swipes, momentarily overwhelming the Alpha with blisteringly quick strikes to the face, chest and thighs before in a counter of blind, animalistic rage; the Alpha dug its claws into the silver one's stomach, lifted the huge wolf over its head and hurled it to the ground directly at its feet.

Geralt winced as the floor cracked with the impact and silver Lycan whimpered in pain, its arm bent at an odd angle. _'Well, looks like raw power wins.'_ Geralt surmised as he readied his Yrden to hit the Alpha immediately after it slew the Theta. He watched as the Alpha raised a huge claw in one final strike to end their bout, and nodded in grudging respect as the Theta suddenly lunged forwards from the ground, in a last, desperate attempt to tear out the monster's exposed throat. However Geralt could see that it would never connect in time, the Alpha's attack was already descending.

He was about to step forwards when a thunderous boom exploded from behind him, and he watched as a cylindrical cone of condensed, sheer force slammed into the raised arm of the Alpha like a blunt spear hurled by a giant. Geralt curled a lip in disgust as the huge, navy blue furred arm was forced back, further and further until the back of its wrist was touching the opposite shoulder, and the bending arm slipped out of its socket as the bone cracked and pierced through the armpit from within. At the same moment, the Theta leapt up from the ground and with snarl of vengeance and victory, its maw wrapped around the Alpha's throat. With a sickening crunch, Geralt observed in curious intrigue as the silver Wolf tore out nearly half of the Alpha's thick, muscled neck. Leaving the head to flop down and snap off the spine from the sheer weight, and fall to the floor with a dull thud.

Looking back, Geralt was greeted with the sight of Valens leaning against the cave wall, his elbow buried painfully into the stone from the recoil of his Aard. The Dragon Witcher looked at him tiredly. "Ow…" He moaned as he slipped his arm out of the wall and leaned back against the stone for a second.

Standing slowly, he made his way to the currently self-aware Lycanthrope, who was watching him carefully. Valens grunted as he hefted his axe, only to stop when Were-Niellan stepped back, fear in his eyes. His jaw dropped as Niellan's form shifted from silver furred Werewolf to a naked, scared looking man.

"Wait! Wait Valens!" He pleaded, hands raised in surrender.

Valens let his axe go limp in his hands. "What the fuck?" He looked back at Geralt, who looked just as bewildered. "How did-"

Niellan however, interrupted him. "Please my Lord! I never got to bury her! _She_ took me before I could, please don't kill me yet!" He begged, edging closer to the stunned Dragon Witcher.

Valens ignored him completely. Striding up to the man, he grabbed him by the shoulder. "Niellan, how did your revert your form?" He asked forcefully.

The hunter looked at him in confusion, swapping his gaze from Geralt to Valens before shaking his head. "W-what?"

Valens let him go and stepped back. "Change."

Niellan frowned at him, "I don-"

"Change." Valens repeated again, a little more quietly than before, however the danger in his voice rose dramatically.

Niellan closed his mouth and blinked rapidly before closing his eyes. A minute went by, two, three, and then suddenly Niellan's eyes opened. His soft brown orbs were invaded by a silver shade and his teeth began to lengthen, his hair began to turn silver before it all stopped. He looked up, tears in his eyes. "I- Valens please. I don't want to."

Valens stared at him in disbelief, "What the fuck is going on here?" He turned to Geralt, "Why can he change at will without a full moon? Why is he coherent in that form?" Geralt however only shrugged, watching Niellan with distrusting eyes.

Valens turned back to Niellan, who was watching him with hope. Hope that a friend would grant him mercy for but a few hours. "Do you feel anything different?" He asked dubiously.

Niellan nodded, "It's there. There's something inside me. But it listens, I told it to help me and save you, and it listened!"

Valens stared at the hunter for a few second before he turned to look at Geralt, "Geralt, do you think that he's the Alpha now. Since he killed the last?" He asked.

Geralt shrugged again. "Well, he _did_ kill the Alpha that turned him. I've only met an Alpha once and that was on a full moon, maybe they are the only one's capable of controlling it." He threw out experimentally.

Niellan looked at the Witchers and rose from his knees. "Could that be true? I don't have to die?" He asked, even though his tone was neutral. Valens could see the wetness in his eyes. _'This poor man… Curse whatever gods have damned him so.'_

"We won't be able to make sure until the full moon rolls around. Which isn't for a couple of days." Valens stated carefully. He turned to Geralt, "You go on ahead, and I'll take care of this. If he turns and can't control it, I'll kill him." He stated.

Geralt raised a brow, "And If he can? Then what?" He asked neutrally.

Valens frowned as he looked at the silent Niellan. "He's a good man Geralt, was completely open to letting himself die for the sake of others. Even was willing to die five minutes ago as long as we let him bury his wife. I won't kill him if he can control it. I can't." He replied morosely.

Geralt watched him for a second before nodding, "Then I trust your judgement. I'll investigate the Baron, look for me after you discern his fate." Geralt nodded to both men and exit the cave swiftly after retrieving his sword, and in doing so, let the propped up body of Margrit fall limply to the floor; inducing a slight grimace from Niellan.

"Thank you…" Valens turned to see Niellan with his head bowed in gratitude. "You've done so much for me." He lifted his head and looked Valens directly in the eye. "Even if I must die, I do not mind. I would be at peace if it were by your hand. I swear my life to you, from here and now."

Valens shook his head sadly, "Let's hope Geralt was right and you _can_ keep it together... You've suffered enough." He stated before turning and leaving the cave. He heard no reply, only the slight shuffle of footsteps behind him and the sniffles of a broken man desperately trying to restrain tears.

* * *

 **The following morning…**

Valens grunted in satisfaction as he sheathed his dagger, the headstone was shaped by the blacksmith, and he offered the engrave it for Niellan while the man himself dug the grave.

 _'Here lies Hanna,  
A beautiful woman who stole the hearts of many,  
and loved forevermore._

 _Rest in your bed of daffodils, my princess,  
and… forgive me. I Love you.'_

The final part had been engraved by Niellan, and Valens had only cleaned it up. Standing, with gravestone in hand, he made his way to Niellan who took it from him with nod of thanks. Placing it at the head of the recently filled grave, he stepped back respectfully and stared at it for a while.

Valens meanwhile turned around and observed the scenery, she was buried in a gorgeous place. Atop a hill where she could look over the wonderful farms of Heatherton with the sun falling upon her cheeks. Niellan had bought the damned hill from the land owner for this specific reason.

He heard Niellan step up beside him, "Forgive me, Valens. But I wish not to stay here. Can we please move on?" He asked quietly.

Valens grunted, "I had been thinking, why don't you stick with me until the full moon. In the meanwhile I can work on my own task and still watch over you." He supplied.

Niellan nodded softly, "...Hanna was all I had, without her, I have no purpose. I would be honoured to aid you on your ventures my Lord." He replied firmly.

Valens placed a hand on the man's shoulder and pat him roughly. "Then it's settled. Chin up, friend. I don't want you to put me in a pissy mood as well now." He said with a grin.

Niellan chuckled, and gestured for Valens to lead on. Turning back, he cast one last gaze upon where Hanna lay, and shed the single tear he had been holding back. _'I'm so sorry, I will remember you always.'_

And with a final breath, he turned and walked down the hill to where the Dragon Witcher waited. Knowing within, that he would _never,_ look upon that gravestone again.

* * *

 **AN:** God damn, Happy belated New Year to everyone! Thought I'd get this finished off for you guys as a sort of present for sticking with me for so long. Apologies for ending it on such a morbid note, but it seemed perfect. Military training had kicked in, which is why it's taking me so long. I'm prepping for the commando engineering unit which has insanely high physical requirements meaning most of the time I'm fucking blasted when I get home. I will keep writing, but when I ship off, expect " **The Dawn of Dragons** " to go on hold for several months at a time.


	9. Trial of the Silver Lycan

**AN: Now that I've finished school, I can dedicate more time to writing. Expect an update every Friday for all three of my current stories starting next week. I'm sure you'll all appreciate me updating more than once a month.**

* * *

 _"Teach a man to fish, and he'll be set for a lifetime. Teach him to find enlightenment in it? And watch him depopulate the ocean." –_ _Me_

* * *

Valens was poised on the balls his feet, watching with a keen eye as Niellan stepped into the circle of wolves currently harassing a small dog, which was currently cowering with its head lowered and its tail nestled up under its stomach in fear.

The cursed hunter slowly knelt down in front of the dismayed pup, completely disregarding the snapping, feral wolves that surrounded him. Scooping up the little canine in his arms, he stood and turned on his heel to face the largest overgrown mutt that was now watching him carefully. Valens pursed his lips, an unreadable expression on his face as Niellan's eyes flashed silver as his canines elongated into vicious looking fangs; sending the pack leader skidding back on its hind legs as it vainly tried to distance itself from the monster wolf in front of it.

Niellan let out a gruff snort as the other wolves quickly reciprocated their leader's actions and turned tail to flee with reckless abandon. He strode up to the smirking Valens and held out the confused little puppy a little too high off the ground for the dog's comfort, a stupid grin plastered on his face.

Valens nodded, "You're getting good at controlling your shift… This is definitely something to add to the Bestiary when I get back home. Alpha werewolves are masters of all Canidae around them, even the beast within." He quoted, hands flourishing in the air regally as if revealing a shop's placard.

Niellan clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he bounced the little dog in his arms soothingly, "I know I said I live to serve, my Lord. But a specimen to be studied in a lab somewhere isn't exactly what I had in mind." The hunter informed humorously.

Valens let out an amused huff as he climbed up on Tug's back, who was craning his neck to sniff at the little fluff ball Niellan was carrying, only to jerk back and look away sheepishly as Valens gave him a reproachful flick on the ear. "What are you going to do with that thing?" Valens asked as he poked his horse with his toe, urging Tug to start plodding forwards.

Niellan flicked his own reins against his saddle-back's nape as he flipped the dog in his hands on its back to look at him. The brown-furred pup stared back at him adorably with two big, wet eyes before it tried to bite at his nose. Grinning at the fur ball, the hunter stuffed it into a crook of the saddle and took up the reins once more. "I'll see if I can drop it off at a farm or something nearby, if not, I've trained hunting dogs before… I can turn this little one into a fiery little war-dog." He offered as he eyed the pup that had just nestled down in between his thighs, trying to find a spot in the saddle that wasn't terribly stiff.

Valens grunted, "You sure it won't just turn out to be a stunt?" He asked, throwing a suspicious look at the tiny creature.

Niellan laughed and shook his head, "Velen's dog breeds are larger and more vicious than the wolves in Skellige's mountain-tops! Did you know; back when Velen used to belong to Temeria, an entire contingent of cavalry was replaced by Velenerian Warhounds?" Niellan quizzed, nose high in the air in a snobby gesture as he finally discovered his trump card over the Dragon Witcher. He then snorted. _'Of course. Of course I know more about canines than him. How ironic. What's next? That I like my meat human and raw?'_

The Dragon Witcher let out a short chuckle, "Oh really now?" He asked, mocking the Were-hunter.

Niellan nodded solemnly, "Laugh all you want, Valens. I'm being serious, those dogs tore men to pieces. In field battles, the mounted archers that acted as their handlers would let loose volleys of arrows before setting the dogs loose. If you had your shield up to block the missiles, you would never know why your leg had suddenly been ripped from your torso."

Valens grunted in response, "Well, tell that thing to stay away from my toes then." At Niellan's chuckle, Valens looked up to the sky and frowned. "How are you feeling, on a side note?" He asked carefully.

He winced slightly as Niellan's laughter died abruptly, "Oh. Is… is tonight the night?" He asked, feigning nonchalance. However, try as he might; the Witcher could literally hear the way Niellan's heart had begun to pound against his ribcage in anxious fear.

Valens said nothing, instead nodding as he directed Tug off of the path and into the woods.

Niellan followed suit slowly, directing his eyes up at the sky every once in a while as he watched the sun slowly descend. How he wished it would never set...

"Valens?..." The Hunter asked, grimacing at the sound of his own, shaky voice. _'I should be stronger than this damn it!'_

He looked up as Valens slowed down to ride alongside him, instead of ahead. The Dragon Witcher levelled a brilliant golden gaze upon him, his eyes softer and much more comforting than the usual lance-point glare he always seemed to carry. "Speak your mind, my friend."

Niellan smiled at the young Witcher, _'He always knows exactly what to say doesn't he?'_ he whispered within his mind. "I- I don't want to die…" It came out like a strangled wisp of wind, barely audible. But he knew the Witcher heard him, he knew that the man had heard it in perfect clarity. He looked down to the puppy in his lap, dozing off peacefully, before it lazily opened a baleful eye in irritation as a raindrop splashed upon its head. He tried, by Melitele he tried, but the wetness in his eyes just wouldn't dissipate. "Is that selfish of me; to wish for such a thing?" He asked quietly.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he looked up to find two stoic, golden orbs staring into what felt like his soul. "It would be selfish of you to _not_ wish for it; it would be unfair to yourself." The normally brutal Witcher squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, "Do not fret, I do not believe you will die tonight."

At this, Niellan raised his eyes to meet Valens', searching for any hint of deception. "Do you truly believe that?" He asked, his heart skipping a few beats as the Witcher turned to once again meet his gaze.

Valens grinned, "I've watched you for all but a few days; yet my mind is doubtless. That beast inside is not nearly strong enough to take you down. Steel yourself, it will be an arduous task, but I have faith." He stated with an infectious confidence before nudging Tug forwards once more.

Niellan sat motionless; hands limp against the saddle as he watched the Witcher proceed ahead of him. Then almost as if a switch had been flicked on, his hunched posture slowly straightened itself, his fingers curled into stone hard fists as his muscles coiled with strength; and his eyes… his eyes flashed silver with an ungodly determination. Directing his gaze up at the gleaming white moon that barely began to peek over the horizon, the hunter let out a defiant, misty breath from his nostrils before his eyes returned to the levelled, war axe-laden back of Valens the Dragonlord. _'Then it is settled. Your will, my hands.'_ With the thought restrained and locked in his mind by a force of willpower alone, the Lycanthrope slapped his reins against his steed's neck and ventured on through the forest.

* * *

 **Several hours later…**

Valens stood with a tense chest full of breath, his eyes locked onto the glorious, bone white mass that was forever out of his reach. He could hear the steady heartbeat of his companion, who was sitting on his knees in the clearing behind him, quietly awaiting the moment that would discern his fate. Valens frowned as he focused on the hunter's soft, rhythmic breathing pattern. Something had changed in the man; he couldn't quite decipher on which end of the spectrum of 'good or bad' the change sat; but something was undoubtedly different about Niellan.

The fear, the sense of hopelessness that had radiated from him previously was entirely gone. _'Was it all an act? I wouldn't think it, but perhaps he might use this moment to claim my life... No, tis' not that; I wond- Oh shit…'_ Valens' eyes widened slightly as the moonlight overhead suddenly spilled onto the ground in front of him. The moon itself had finally risen to a height which allowed its gaze to peek over the tops of the trees. Now there was a wave of light that wholly devoured the gloomy shadows as it shot towards the unsuspecting Werewolf in an everlastingly slow crawl. Steeling himself, the Wiedźmin reached over to the tree beside him and wrapped his fingers around the axe shaft, the head of the meaty weapon was buried a good five inches into the dead torso of the tree, the gleaming silver edges not currently buried into the wood positively sparkled in the lunar candescence.

There was a crack as he removed his weapon from the tree, the smallest piece of dried bark had chipped off and fell to the floor. Yet Niellan's eyes opened, and his head rose from where it hung. His gaze was drawn the almost divinely shining edge of the war axe, before it shifted to meet the steeled gaze of the Dragon Witcher. His mouth opened, breath gathered in his lungs, his tongue begun its motion to allow for words to form… and then light spilled over his body.

The words that would have been spoken were twisted and warped in his throat, forced passed his vocal chords, resulting in a chilling shriek of otherworldly pain. Valens watched with a sad gaze as the kind hunter's gaze turned feral, his eyes shifting from a warm brown haze into a wild, hazardous swirling mass of silver. He watched as the man's spine began to pop out from his back, individual bones and joints contorting and popping in and out of place as his very skeletal structure morphed into that of a supernaturally superior humanoid. He watched as Niellan's skin darkened in shade before his pores were wrenched open, revealing clusters of shining silver hairs that spiked forth out from within like the clawed fingertips of a wraith all over his body.

Valens shook his head, a melancholy mood steeping over him as the Danish war axe in his hand twirled in his grip. "Damn it… Damn everything…. Damn you…" He growled under his breath, his muscles pressurising in anger as he strode forwards with long, barbed steps. He was forced to watch as the popping of joints slowly grew silent, as the rapidly growing quantity of muscle mass eventually dwindled to a halt; as the face of a man morphed and elongated into a wolf's head, a maw lined with glinting ivory fangs hanging open as the beast panted with the stress of the change.

The Dragon Witcher's right foot stomped into the earth three feet away from the silver claws of the recently changed Werewolf, his left planted itself firmly into the ground for leverage as he swivelled his torso away from the beast in order to coil back for a single, devastating strike. His right hand gripping the axe shaft at the end of its length dragged the weapon down to his left, which was waiting to grip onto a position closer to the head for maximum edge control. He was lined up for a murder strike, a single, painless, upwards swing that would herald the end of Niellan; the Cursed Hunter of Heatherton…

The giant, angular face of the Alpha Werewolf rose up to meet the face of its executioner, knowing its end was nigh for there wasn't a chance of survival, not from such a vulnerable position on its haunches.

Valens met its gaze, his eyes no longer cold and hard; but instead filled with remorse. Instinct kicked in as his muscles flooded with mutated adrenaline before they flexed with effort, sending the axe forth to carve through the night air, whispering a hollow song of devastation as it parted dust motes that harmlessly fluttered by on the breeze in its quest for blood.

Then he saw it... a flicker of colour in the big, wide, silver eyes that were staring up at him. A brief cascade of brown that overpowered the dangerous glint of the silver, the same fuzzy brown that belonged, to Niellan of Heatherton... and with a roar of unparalleled desperation, the Dragon Witcher pulled on every ounce of strength he possessed, he heaved on the very cords of fate itself as he ground away the speed from his fatal swing. However, it wasn't enough, the axe would have still delivered its silver bite two inches deep into the beast's throat; had he not let the axe twirl a quartet of a rotation in his hand. The heavy, dark steel flat of the axe-head smashed into the turned hunter's throat with enough power to crush a windpipe... however to a Werewolf, the blow was only jarring.

Niellan let out a startled mix between a wheeze and a yelp of pain as his hunched over position was suddenly smacked upright and then some. Clutching at its throat, the Werewolf skittered back in fear on its haunches before scrambling around in dirt, attempting to stand.

Valens stepped forwards, eyes narrowed in a piercing gaze as he observed the Werewolf. "Niellan…?" He asked slowly.

The silver-furred Lycan snapped its gaze up to meet his and nodded its shaggy head enthusiastically; before planting its butt firmly on the ground, as if awaiting instruction.

Valens stared at the Werewolf, who stared right back with a gleeful twinkle in its eyes. The axe in his hand slipped out of loose fingers, piercing into the ground with nary a sound; and Valens eyes rolled back as the tiny, brown furred pup slipped out of Niellan's saddle and plodded up to the giant, sat-down Werewolf to nestle in between its legs. Valens' eye began to twitch before a chuckle slipped from his mouth, "Unbelievable…" He stated, before his chuckling evolved into outright laughter.

* * *

 **Sunrise…**

Valens winced as he heard a particularly loud crack from behind him; even Tug gave voice to his distaste with a brief snort. Rotating the strips of rabbit he had caught before the sun had risen, the Witcher stood from his crouch over the small campfire and dusted off his knees. "So… you're alive." He said cheerfully as he turned to face the Hunter, before frowning and flinching slightly at the sight that greeted him. "Good lord, you need to shave before lice begin to settle in there." He commented, gesturing to the nether regions of the completely naked man that was eyeing him with sulking look.

"My clothes…" The Hunter mumbled with a sad pout as he grabbed at his carry-pack for new clothes.

Valens clicked his tongue admonishingly, "There's a river westwards a couple hundred feet, go wash yourself. You smell like wet dog." He ordered firmly, nostrils flaring as tried to get the scent of Werewolf out of his nasal passage.

Niellan threw down the clothes he had just managed to excavate from his messy pack and growled as he stomped off towards the river, his little beta plodding along behind him.

He stopped just before he entered the tree line and turned around, his grumbly mood evidently dissipated. "Thank you…"

Valens nodded at him before a grin broke out on his face, "I'm glad I didn't have to wipe Niellan juice off of my axe at the very least…" He turned away and knelt down to care for the meat that was cooking on the fire, before his head tilted to the side, "I told ya didn't I?" He asked knowingly.

Niellan smiled faintly and nodded before moving off through woods towards the peaceful gurgle of the river that emanated from ahead of him. _'Aye, my Lord. You believed until the very end. Thank you.'_

His cheerful face turned to one of horror as he heard the faint click of little jaws snapping underneath him, and the swift breeze of air brushing against his manhood. Yelping in pure dismay, the Werewolf let out a squeal as he burst off towards the river in a sprint induced by terror. The brown pup that _had_ been trailing behind/beneath him yipped furiously as it gave chase to its floppy breakfast that was booking ass through the forest.

* * *

 **Several hours later...  
Upon the road to the Red Keep.**

Valens gave a light whistle as Tug's ears bristled; there was a town. Niellan stopped his horse with a light pull of the reigns, and then an irritated harder jerk when the old beast refused. Glaring at the Werewolf, the Witcher shook his head disapprovingly. "We need to get you another horse, that one's nearly lame." He stated, looking at the baleful pack animal.

Niellan's eyes softened as he pat the little creature gently, "It isn't her fault, my Lord. She was to carry water and game, not haul me across half the continent." He said with a tone just shy of defensive as he grabbed the little furball in his saddle and scratched at its head.

Valens shrugged in response, "Doesn't change the fact that she won't be able to keep up with Tug's marching pace, let alone his gallop or even canter. I gave you your gold back, buy a warhorse when we reach the keep and give that poor lass away to someone who won't run her dead her on the road." He instructed, gesturing to the tired looking, pale brown pack horse. He then turned back in his saddle with a keen eye trained on Niellan. "Unless you have other plans, you know you don't have to stay with me anymore, you're free to go." He informed, making sure that his voice was as neutral as possible. The man was still traumatised after all, if he got the sense that he was being shunned away… who knows what a moping, angry Werewolf could do.

His fears were instantly affirmed as the hunter instantly began to fidget, he could literally hear the man's heartbeat quicken. "I...-"

However Valens interjected immediately upon noticing the man's distress. "Forget it, forget I said anything. I understand…"

Niellan however averted his gaze and wrung the ratty leather in his hands anxiously. "I don't want to seem like a burd-" However he was cut off again, this time by a terrifying, gravelly growl that sedated even the beast within.

"Niellan." Valens paused to make sure he had the Werewolf's full attention. "I understand that you have no one left besides me. I once asked you to stay because it was either that or death, and now I'm _telling_ you to stay by my side. You are no burden to me…" Valens trailed off as his anger towards Niellan's self-doubt evaporated, and was replaced by an even more frightening twinkle of curiosity. "In fact, with a little training. I could have me very own pet Werewolf…" The Witcher trailed off, mumbling incoherently to himself. Niellan could have sworn to have heard the words 'chew toys' and 'spiky collars'.

The Hunter merely blinked, practically feeling his loyalty for the man ahead of him soaring even higher to unbelievable heights. His horse began to plop forwards of its own accord before Niellan finally shook himself out of his stupor and increased his pace to catch up with his… master. Niellan frowned, before a sense of resolution dawned on him. _'It's only fitting, that a beast has a master…"_

He hadn't made it three feet before he was suddenly thrown off of his horse by a mass of rotting, stinking flesh. Groaning as he skipped along the ground harshly, the hunter hauled himself back onto his feet and growled lowly at the large ghoul that faced him. He felt a twinge of sadness as he watched his poor horse go down ahead of him, three more ghouls atop her. _'At least she didn't suffer.'_ He thought to himself, as a ghoul ripped a chunk out of her throat; ending the overtaxed horse's life quickly. Throwing the small dog in his hand into the bushes beside him, Niellan turned his head and grunted at it lowly. The small pup's frightened mood shifted into one of complete obedience as it gave a blink of understanding before turning tail and running deep into the tall grass.

Turning his attention back onto the ghoul in front of him, the hunter reached for the small skinning knife he carried on his thigh, before cocking his head at the ghoul. "No… claws for claws shall we, good Sir?" He mocked softly, his eyes flashing a shade of silver keener than any blade.

The ghoul did not understand his words. But it understood his intent; which was more than enough. It charged forwards in a blur of movement, leaping up in the air towards the Hunter's exposed throat. Niellan however only shrugged indifferently, before the skin on his arms turned dark and sprouted barely visible, silver hairs. His hand, which had elongated into claws reached out and grabbed the snapping ghoul by its throat, the other wrapping around the undead creatures waist; pulling it tightly up against the chest of the Werewolf. Confused to no end, the now terrified creature lashed out with its claws to escape the grasp of the grinning, fang-toothed man with the silver eyes. However, it was for naught, as with a quick twist of the wrist, the undead mutation suddenly went limp in Niellan's grasp, its head now facing one-hundred and eighty degrees in the wrong direction.

Tossing the corpse to the floor, he looked over to the remains of his horse and just managed to catch the silver gleam of a Danish war axe as it cleaved a fleshy pink necrophage completely in two as Valens did his third and final pass atop Tug. He watched as Valens jerked his head towards Niellan, his hand not even anywhere near the reigns, regardless, the regal looking steed instantly swivelled and cantered up to his side. Niellan frowned. _'Maybe he's right about the horse thing…'_

"They were upwind, otherwise we would have caught them before they caught us." He informed with an annoyed grunt.

Niellan nodded before his head snapped up to the wind and his eyes flashed silver once more, "There's one more, Master."

Valens frowned, "Master?"

Niellan smirked, "I have reached a conclusion." At Valens' still confused look, the Hunter shrugged. "I'm not wearing no damned collar though… this way." He stated after a pause.

Valens watched as the Werewolf pivoted and took off at a surprising pace, he urged Tug to follow with pursed lips. _'Surely not…'_

Tug gave him an amused snort in response, _'Make sure to be gentle the first time! He might not appreciate the whip and chains.'_ The horse let out a noise that could only be described as the equestrian version of a guffaw as Valens smacked its rump sharply in holy retribution, his cheeks hot with infuriated embarrassment.

* * *

The Were-hunter broke through the tall grass and hurtled over the rickety fence with a wolven grace. They were quite close to the town now, the Witcher behind him had warned of it being up ahead. Scanning his immediate vicinity, the Hunter quickly deduced three things. Firstly, Valens hadn't made it to the location yet, meaning Niellan was in charge of the situation. Secondly, there was a positively huge, bony looking ghoul snarling at the barn. Thirdly, there was a terrified looking man hiding _behind_ the barn. He frowned at the situation, before shrugging. _'Kill thing, save man.'_

With an infallible battle plan to topple titans, the Werewolf leapt forwards and in mid-stride; shifted. Gone was the streamlined hunter, in its stead was a hulking Alpha lined with a mass of seething muscle. His current form was different from his theta build, he was still slimmer and more defined than most Alpha's (the one Alpha he knew of), but his muscle mass and sheer size had definitely increased. Letting out nary a sound, the Silver Alpha landed on its front claws and bound forwards in an animalistic sprint. The giant ghoul whipped its decayed head around only to recoil at the sight of the snarling visage of the beast that was charging him, however it recovered quickly, and managed to brace for the impact. Digging its clawed feet into the ground, the Bone ghoul raised its arms as it took the charge head on. It wasn't pretty.

The Werewolf's shoulder had smashed harshly into the ghoul's jaw, sending sharp teeth flying in all different direction as well as eliciting spittle to splash everywhere as the giant necrophage's head snapped back from the blow. However it didn't forget to return the favour, the claws that had been held in front to brace had suddenly extended simultaneously with the Werewolf's charge, slicing deep crevasses down the front of Niellan's chest in a haggard 'X'. Both beasts backed off in pain, one disgusting looking brute, spluttering and dazed; while the other elegant, silver furred Lycanthrope clutched at its wounds in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

The Werewolf was the first to recover. Necrophages needed decayed flesh in order to heal, they weren't natural creatures, but instead abominations of death, driven by fungus and disease. He sprang forwards, intent on ripping out the creatures throat with his claws, before something made him pause, the skin on the ghoul had become extremely bumpy…

He drove a claw into the ground ahead of him and turned his bull-rush of an attack into a more refined side-kick, using his grounded hand as leverage to twist up and transfer his momentum into his striking leg, the giant wolf smashed its foot into the beast's trapezium muscle. It was lucky he did, for the sharp, bony spikes that suddenly burst out of the necrophage's skin would have done more harm than merely cushioning the blow of the Werewolf. Regardless, it was still sent hurtling backwards from the sheer force; the angle of the kick wasn't flat enough to offer impalement, however it did _hurt._

The Werewolf stood gingerly before stomping on the sore foot repeatedly to force out the kinks. He would feel it later, but for now he had a problem to deal with. He barely took a step forwards before a colossal battle-axe, that could only possibly be wielded by one man, grazed the silver fur on his cheekbone as it swung by his head with a meaty sounding _'Woomph!… Woomph!…'_ as it spun through the air. Niellan watched with a sick sense of satisfaction as the viking weapon of mass destruction cleaved into collar of the monstrous ghoul as if a hot knife through butter.

Letting loose a bloodthirsty growl, he pounced forwards and in four powerful lopes he had made it to his prey. Digging out the axe embedded in the wheezing creature, he pulled back and slammed it into the beast's flank with a single hand before skirting around to the other side; running a razor-like claw under the monster's festered, yet pointy-less belly as he manoeuvred. His animal instinct merged with human logic as he expertly weaved under and out the other side of the beast when it swivelled its torso to swipe at him; seeing the spines on the monster's back spread apart as it stretched, Niellan dug a silver claw through its hide like a drill before pulling back as the creature yelped in pain. Leaping back, the Werewolf observed the chunk of meat in his clutches before curling his wolfish snout back in distaste. It was a chunk of rotting human kidney, mixed with the kidneys of other animals. Flinging it over his shoulder with disgust, the Werewolf made to attack again when a golden eyed Witcher slammed into the ghoul's flank with a brutal shoulder check, driving his own axe deeper into the beast's flank. The necrophage would have bitten Valens' head off then and there, had Niellan not grabbed its meaty head in both of his claws. Jerking the head back to face him, Niellan snarled victoriously at the now sufficiently terrified ghoul before he grabbed the beast's jaw and snout with both hands. One muscular arm pulled with the strength of the ocean's tide while the other pushed with the force of a crazed bison.

It was like snapping a matchstick.

The bottom half of the necrophage's skull split completely in two as Niellan ripped it away from its top half, he was still pulling it away from the sinew and flesh that was connecting the two halves before the tongue flopped out of its throat with a sickening gurgle and fell to the dirt. Blood followed… copious amounts of black and brown, brackish blood.

Stepping away from the decayed corpse, he saw Valens jumped back from the suddenly limp body before it crushed him, grabbing at his axe; the Witcher flicked it clean of blood before he tucked it under an arm. Niellan reverted back to his human form, the soft breeze against his nether regions made him groan in dismay. _Of course,_ his clothes had been shredded. Again.

Growling half at his dog in hiding, and half at Valens, the man jerked his head towards the barn. "There's a guy h-" Valens waved him off.

"I know, go get dressed."

Valens watched Niellan grumpily tread back to his slaughtered horse, his pup bursting out of the trees and slamming into its master's thigh as it scrabbled at the man. Shaking his head to clear the ridiculous sight, Valens sighed and kicked the Alghoul slumped beneath him mischievously before making his way to the trembling man hiding by the barn. _'An elder Alghoul as well…'_ He noted as he passed the bone white necrophage.

Rounding the corner of the hay barn, Valens actually rolled his eyes in utter disdain as he bat away the sword that had jumped out at him, the man wielding the shoddy weapon looked up in fear as he backed away from his weapon, which was now solidly embedded in the planks of the barn.

Refraining from decapitating the man then and there, the Witcher took a deep breath to settle himself. "Who are you?" he asked curtly.

The man recoiled at his tone, before his chest instantly began to puff up. "I am a Witcher of the- oof!" His tirade had been ended, righteously so by a fist that buried itself deep into the man's stomach. His gasping was then cut off abruptly by a backhand that would have sent him reeling had the Dragon Witcher not grabbed him with the same hand that delivered the slap. Valens slammed the man up against the wall and peered into the other man's bloody, snot filled face; which was getting more and more ugly by the second as fear settled in.

"Don't you dare disrespect me." He growled dangerously, his other hand moved to the rusted, chipped sword that was still embedded in the barn and without removing it from the wood, Valens dragged it through the plank to the side of the man's neck.

The other man's eyes suddenly widened as he caught sight of the golden, slitted eyes, the brutishly heavy looking axe with the gleaming edge, the dragon's head pendant that hung from the athletic, muscular man's neck. "Ye… ye are the real thing! A Witcher!" He cried in shock mingled with despair.

Valens grinned a fanged grin. "And you, are most certainly not. You carry a shitty, worthless sword, second-hand armour, no balls, nor brains... The fuck do you think you are doing?"

The man spluttered in response, "I… I please sir! I'm just trying to make a livin'! I swear, mi'lord!" He begged, tears welling in his eyes.

Valens pulled back, disgust evident on his face as he regarded the sobbing man. "Are you man or chambermaid? Stop that infernal noise." His eyes then followed the glint of metal hanging from the imposter's throat. "What is that? Where did you get that?" His tone had dropped octaves and he was now glaring at the man with an unidentifiable look.

The sobbing wannabe noticed the change in tone and fumbled around his neck for the medallion. Pulling it away from his neck, he held it out. "I bought't from a peddler, knew what it was! Please sir, I'd not steal it! Ye have to believe me!" Valens grabbed the amulet before staring at the other man. Tucking it away, he rolled his shoulder as he considered what to do with the fraud. Normally he would have buried the amulet and slaughtered the fake, but Geralt might know whose medallion it had been by scent. It was a Wolf School medallion after all. There was also the immediate problem of townsfolk approaching at a rapid pace. _'Must've heard the commotion…'_

Sighing wearily, the Dragon Witcher took his axe; and slung it over his back. The bumbling man instantly began to blubber his thanks before the saxe knife strapped in the middle of his back was drawn and in the same moment, sliced across the man's chest in a ragged, unclean cut.

Valens flicked the blade clean and grabbed the man by his ruined leather shirt as he threw him out into the clearing before the townsfolk who had just arrived. He saw Niellan off to the side, watching cautiously.

"Ay! What's this then?" One of the brawnier townsfolk asked, stepping up with his pitchfork.

Valens raised his hands in peace, "Calm yourselves, I was passing through and saw that a fellow Witcher needed my aid with a vicious beast." He stated reasonably, gesturing to the slaughtered Alghoul. Valens turned his attention back to the townsfolk who were looking at him in awe, their gazes drawing back and forth from the beast, to the gleaming eyed Witcher. "This whelp is a novice, he is barely a Witcher; but he fought for your village. In his disgrace, he will serve your elder for a year in order to repay you good folk for his frailness in battle." Valens almost smirked at the gluttonous looks in their eyes. Having a Witcher indebted to the village would be a massive boon, he could see why they were stoked.

The same brawny man stepped forward, an unintelligent look across his features. "Alls wells n' good. But he ain't ask for no reward, so whaddya want?" He asked brutishly.

Geralt looked over at Niellan who was now lounging on the fencing surrounding the hay barn, apparently unnoticed by all. Valens snorted in amusement; "Need a horse, your strongest. In exchange; you get to keep your lives from this monster," he paused to once again gesture at the positively foul smelling carcass of the ghoul, "And you get a novice Witcher as your vassal for a full year." He then kicked the still bleeding imposter on the ground lightly, who groaned in pain.

The simple man looked at him with what was his version of a keen look before nodding. "Aye, we can do that fer' ye. Thank yuh, master Witcher!"

Valens sighed again, before nodding and kicking the man by his feet once more out of spite. "You lucky shite." He muttered lowly at the groaning man.

* * *

"I ain't simple like the rest of these folk, master Witcher. I know what you did for us is great, and what you want in return is little. Thank you, from the bottom off my old heart. Thank ye much so."

Valens felt like braining himself on a nearby boulder as he flashed the elder a warm, and utterly fake smile. He just wanted to leave; the entire village reeked of stupidity. "That's fine, I need to leave in haste so a strong horse will do me just fine." Valens stated as he waited for the same, big, stupid man to deliver his horse. He frowned however when a flit of doubt and fear flickered across the elder man's face. His voice dropped a few pitches as he craned his head down to stare at the old man. "It is a strong horse, yes?" He half threatened, half asked.

The old man barely squeaked out a noise before nodding quickly, the sweat that had suddenly started to coalesce on his brow began to bead and drip. Valens felt his ire rising. _'This fucking imbecile is going to swindle… me?'_

Valens let out a low growl, "Old man, you look nervous. If the horse that steps around that corner does not meet my expectations. **I'm going to set your fucking house on fire!** " He roared with a knowing heat permeating his words.

The elder man took off at the run towards the stables, his gangly legs carrying him surprisingly quickly. "Bonkins can be a little daft at times mi'lord, he might bring the mule by accident when he 'eard ya say strong!" The old man shouted back at him apologetically.

The Dragon Witcher stood there, his fingers twitching for his saxe knife as he glared at the old man until the subject of his fury rounded the corner behind a house. He _almost_ let loose an overpowered Igni that would have scorched the old man's house to oblivion.

 _"AHH! BONKINS PUT THAT THING BACK FROM WHERE YOU DUG IT UP! Get the stallion you half-wit get the stallion!"_ A very familiar and very scared voice could be heard shrieking from down the village.

 _"BUT, SIR! YOU SAID GRAB THE LAME ONE!"_ Another, decidedly much more monotone voice shouted back.

 _"SHUT YER DAMNABLE MOUTH YOU OAF!"_ Was the retort/scream.

 ** _"YES SIIIRRR!"_**

His fingers twitched… Almost…

Almost…

* * *

 **AN: Yeah, a little filler-y. Unfortunately (Or fortunately depending on how you look at it...), this story will have side-missions included. A definite fortunately, my side-missions are way cooler. Bigger chapter too! 6k words right here. Someone pat me on the back, I'm proud of me too. Now keep in mind, I might not _always_ be able to upload once a week, something might pop up you know? However, the opposite might happen as well; I might just sit at home and do nothing but write... give you guys a couple of chapters a week instead of one. Just something to keep in mind.**


	10. Grumpy Witchers and Flaming Barns!

**AN: NONONONONO! I made my promise, and I fucking kept it! My internet went down the son of a cunt! This doesn't count. I'm the author here, fuck what the site depicts! This chapter was posted on Friday god dammit!**

* * *

 _"Spend less time with your weapons, and instead keep your mind sharp; for a blade can always be recovered…"_ _– My boxing instructor_

* * *

 **Several days later…**

 _'Attractive…'_

Was the one, sarcastic thought that passed through his cranium as he eyed the three heads that had been impaled on pikes and left to rot in the sun. He spotted the two guards holding down the entrance to Crow's Perch, and smirked at them knowingly. _'Is it worth it? Sniffing that stench for days, just to look menacing?'_ He asked gleefully.

Tug snorted viciously and shook his head, his statement on the question adamantly asserted.

Riding up to the two guards, he stopped roughly ten paces away as they held up their hands in warning. "What business have ya!" Was the gruff shout that met the Witcher.

Valens peeled off his leather riding gloves and leaned forwards over Tug's neck. "I am with Geralt of Rivia, I understand that we have business with the Bloody Baron." He watched as the two guards exchanged a look with each other before the one whom had spoken previously nodded, and lowered his bleak, iron spear. "Aye, the White Witcher rode in on yesterday's morn. Do ye have proof?"

Valens shrugged, "I'm a Witcher as well." He replied curtly.

He could see the man frown as he leaned forwards and peered at Valens for a few seconds before pulling back, his cracked lips pursed as he did so. "So ye are. Okay Witcher, but we'll be keepin' an eye on ya!"

Instead of replying, the Black Witcher merely urged Tug forwards; and upon levelling with the guards, he grinned at them both. "When it comes to a monster like me, you should keep both of your fucking eyes open." He snarled playfully, flashing the men-at-arms his golden gaze. The younger of the two shivered as he gripped his weapon even tighter, while the older man merely snorted in response. His courage served for naught however; as Valens had easily plucked out the scent of fear the man was radiating… amongst the oh so pleasant traces of alcohol and refuse of course.

Trekking through the relatively small village made of peasants and common artisans, he finally happened upon the bridge walkway over a moat of stinking, algae infested water that led to the Red Keep, Fort Strenger.

He passed the guards that were keeping watch with a similar conversation and eventually found himself dismounted and escorted through the big, cast iron double doors of the main keep. He frowned at the colouration of the interior, the red clay bricks seemed to reflect an almost hazy, auburn light from the nearby sconces. It was irritating to look at.

He was directed to another set of, albeit smaller and less reinforced, double doors. Nodding to the soldier who had brought him to his destination, Valens pushed against the heavy oak doors and watched they swung open. They creaked a little, but not too much. He gave a very minuscule nod at this, _'Less chance of someone being able to sneak in.'_ He summarised.

"The Dragon Witcher, am I right?" A boisterous, yet contradictingly stoic voice bellowed from the other end of the room. Valens snapped his eyes to the man who had spoken, taking in the room within a split second as he did.

 _'Fireplace to my left; can be blown up with Aard if distraction is required. A lot of furniture here, lots of potential cover and weapons. Windows lining the back wall, drops off to the moat; easily survivable. Baron currently stood behind his desk, back right corner, thus reducing mobility. Guards positioned outside, with mail and shoddy spears... Situation is completely in my favour.'_

He took in the Baron as he stepped through the room; the man wasn't exactly the most combat ready looking individual; although he did possess a huge set of ox-like shoulders and tree-stump thick arms. Valens wouldn't have been surprised if the man had managed to take over the castle with his giant bear paws alone. His attire consisted of an untied, long red doublet worn over a steel breastplate. His thick legs were clad in similar looking plate armour. The armour itself was scarred to oblivion, scratches and nicks covered every face of the steel; besides the damage, it was surprisingly well cared for. _'This one likes to fight… that's for damned sure.'_ He thought to himself as he held out a hand.

"Correct, Baron Strenger." He stated as the other man dwarfed his hand with his giant mitts. Valens was sure that if he had been human, his arm would have been shaken out of its blasted socket.

The bearded, leathery face of the Red Baron regarded him thoughtfully before he crossed his arms over his beer gut and grunted softly, "Yer white-haired friend passed through a couple of days ago." He offered guardedly.

Valens perked up at this, "Your guards had said he had passed through yesterday morning?"

It was the Baron's turn to be surprised, "Eh? I saw him once, and that was four days ago. He must've been here on business that didn't concern me."

Valens grunted in assent, if the man didn't know then that was that. "When he did pass through, did he inquire about another white haired individual? A girl named Cirilla?" He asked, slightly tense for a reply.

The Baron seemed to lose his rigidity at this as he sat down and sighed, "Right, you know er' then?" Valens nodded. Strenger nodded as he took a swig of the ale that was sitting on the desk beside him, "Aye, he did. She was here, in fact." He paused to pull out a bottle of what looked to be dwarven vodka before he poured it out into two cups. "I'd be right in thinkin' that you want to hear about er' as well, wouldn't I?" He asked, pushing one of the cups towards Valens.

The Dragon Witcher picked up the offering by the bottom of the cup and raised it in unison with the Baron before slamming the thing down with barely a wince. "That, as well as where my partner has gone…" He informed, as if he hadn't just downed the most bland and venomous drinks of all time.

The Baron nodded, as if expecting this and refilled their cups. "Then I'll tell you the same thing I've told him. Ciri came to us, out of the swamps." He paused to see if Valens was listening and almost flinched to see that the Witcher with the gleaming golden eyes was staring at him intently, muscles coiled and eyes narrowed with resolve. He continued, a little nervously now. "She'd been stumbling through the swamps and 'appened cross a young girl, Gretka. Kind lass offered to take the lil' girl home, and then stumbled into a damned Werewolf attacking one of my men. Beast's been prowlin' round these parts for a while now…" He mumbled absently, taking another look at the still glaring Witcher, he straightened up. "She killed it, but was wounded in the process; came out of the swamps stinking, bloodied and tired." The Baron then stopped.

Valens felt his anger spike as the man looked at him expectantly "Is that it? What of her whereabouts now? " He almost growled at the Baron.

The Baron merely chuckled, yet it was without mirth. "Geralt is out in the wilds right about now, lookin' for me wife and daughter who have gone missing; in exchange for the rest of the information." He stood and moved to one of the windows. "Last I heard he went looking for the Peller about a talisman my wife had with her." He then turned back to Valens, who was watching him silently. "I want them back, Dragonlord. Two Witchers is greater than one, find my family, and I'll reward you with riches, and information." He offered quietly.

Valens didn't respond immediately. Instead, he paced back towards the hearth and grabbed a bottle of brandy that was sitting by the set of high quality chairs that had obviously been raided from neighbouring castles. Turning back to the Baron, he shrugged. "Unless I torture the information from you, I don't have a choice." He paused as the Bloody Baron stiffened slightly, "Very well. I accept, I would instruct your guards to let us pass at a moment's notice. If Geralt hasn't brought word yet, that means something has happened that fits very well within our line of work." He hinted strongly.

The Baron frowned at him before realisation dawned, he turned back to stare unseeingly out of his large windows as Valens departed silently. "You make a strong point… Black Witcher."

* * *

Journeying to the very edge of the swamplands, Valens took stock of his situation. Geralt's position was unknown; he had no idea where to start, as well as how much of the line the White Wolf had managed to reel in, so to speak. Would it be better to wait for the other Witcher, or would he be better off beginning his own investigation and hoping to meet Geralt down the road? That was the question he needed answered.

With a weary sigh, he decided that there was one asset he could call upon that would give him some information; or at least he hoped it would. Scavenging the materials he needed to make a small fire, the Witcher conjured a flame on his finger and flicked it into the fire, before withdrawing a wad of dried up Wolfsbane. He waited for the flames to reach its zenith, before he tossed a few flowers into the fire. Instantly, the fire burst upwards with a hot surge of white flames, before the strange smell of lavender and cooked pork filled the air. Taking a seat by Tug, who stopped his munching on the local fauna to rub his face against Valens' fondly, the raven haired Wiedźmin sighed once more.

 _'What is it my almighty, monster slaying,_ _mutant Master? What can this divine steed do to cure you of your ailments?'_ Was the question asked with a comical shake of Tug's mane.

Valens grabbed at Tug's face lazily in response, raising a brow in surprise as his playful horse gave no resistance. It seemed his faithful companion was acutely aware of his lethargic mood. Idly toying with Tug's lips and nose before shifting his obnoxious ministrations into a gentle massage, to which the smoke coloured horse seemed to greatly appreciate, Valens shrugged. _'Just sick and tired of all this running around, not knowing what the hell is going on or where the fuck to go… If I could just; snap my fingers and will Ciri in front of me… that would be just grand.'_ Was his tired response.

His horse pulled away from his attentions and bumped noses softly, _'That's wishful and dangerous thinking. Those thoughts lead to insanity in our line of work, and you know that you moron. Stop it.'_ Valens brow rose again at the stern command, and only received another 'boop' on the nose for his troubles. Slowly grinning at the individual that he would honestly hurl himself off of mountains for, something that would be seen as absolutely ludicrous to almost every single human on the earth, he grabbed Tug's nose and kissed it roughly before standing and swinging himself onto his mount's back.

 _'You're right. Thanks buddy, it seems Niellan hasn't caught the scent yet, let's go find him.'_

Tug snorted imperiously. _'Of course I'm right. If I could talk, I'd be the world's most respected scholar.'_ His statement was supported by an adamant stamp of a hoof. He then grumbled softly, _'And uhh… you sure about that?'_ The horse added shrewdly.

Valens looked up as a familiar scent pervaded his nostrils, a dozen or so seconds later, the Beast of Heatherton emerged from the bushes, wrinkling his nose at the scent of Niellansbane; Atlas, the newly named and rapidly growing Velenerian War hound trailing alongside him. The pup that had once been no longer than his forearm and no taller than the middle of his shin was now somehow knee-high in height and had grown stockier. It retained the wide, rippled muscle of traditional war hounds, yet the fur around its neck had thickened greatly, its tail growing longer and bushier. Its head, now that it had developed properly, was additionally angular and taut than the floppy lipped, floppy eared hounds that he was used to. Atlas… looked like a typically terrifying cross between an agile Skellige mountain wolf, and the hulking masses of muscle that were used in war.

Upon seeing him, the now sheep-dog sized canine almost tackled the Witcher off of Tug's back in a show of affection, showering him with licks and nippy bites. Unable to restrain the chuckle from his lips, the Dragon Witcher head-butted the over enthusiastic dog playfully before throwing him over his shoulder; only to duck in surprise as the beast snarled joyfully at the challenge and instantly recovered for a second, kiss-happy charge.

Looking up at Niellan, who was leaning on his longbow with a grin, Valens pointed to the dog that was now challenging Tug to a duel of eternal honour with what could only be described as a butt-wiggle. "What the… what?"

Niellan's grin widened. "I told you not to mess around with Velenerian War hounds. Granted, that mutt is growing fast… think it's cos' of me?" He asked, rubbing the stubble that he hadn't had time to shave off. Valens sneered at this, he liked his stubble; the stupid were-hunter didn't know what he was missing.

He then shrugged. "It could be because he's part of your pack. Geralt would know more, but I recall that the more beta's or subordinates an Alpha possesses, the stronger he gets. Atlas could be feeding off of your strength to reach his full potential quicker." He then shrugged again, "But of course it's never that simple… I'm probably completely wrong." He muttered peevishly.

Niellan barked out a laugh and slung his longbow over his shoulder. "No I think you may be right, I've been feeling sort of tuckered out recently. Since I was bitten, fatigue has become non-existent." He explained with a short gesture.

Valens nodded as he leaned back in his saddle and reached for some water, "Watch'ya find so far? Four days out in the woods give you anything to report?" He asked curiously. It had been a recent development, Niellan in his primal form could navigate the forest and swamps with as much finesse as Valens could, perhaps even better. The Witcher was still more experienced than the hunter in the ways of tracking and various other things by miles; but Niellan's unending stamina, his supernatural senses and near limitless ranging abilities was infinitely more useful than just holding his Master's hand. It was like a second set of eyes and ears to aid him.

At Valens' behest, the Werewolf nodded and pulled out a scrolled patch of parchment before handing it to his Master. "You were right; the woods were like archives of information. I found the White Wolf almost a day after we parted. He gave me this, which was supposed to go to you at the end of my recon." He informed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Valens didn't read the missive, if it could wait three days, then it could wait a few more hours. "Anything else?" He probed lightly.

Niellan uncrossed his arms and shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah err… We've got some were-troubles around here." At Valens' gesture, he continued. "A bunch of packless beta's running around, they haven't made much noise, but that's due to the fact that they're tearing each other to pieces."

Valens grunted apathetically at this, "None of our concern right now then."

Niellan looked at him for a moment before shrugging in agreement, "I guess so, and they're not lucid like me I figure. It would be better if they killed each other off huh?"

Valens nodded. "They're nothing like you. Either you're special, or it's an Alpha thing. But they've seemed to turn savage. What else?"

Niellan didn't hesitate this time. "I sniffed down their leader, cut down by blade. However, I don't really think he was an Alpha truth be told; he seemed so much less impressive than the Alpha we faced. Or even me, if you would excuse the self-inflation."

Valens once again nodded, "Trust me, there aren't many Alpha's at all. They are rare, extremely dangerous, and ridiculously hard to kill. If it doesn't look like the maddest son'f a bitch you've ever seen, it likely isn't an Alpha." He stated resolutely.

Niellan nodded in agreement, _'That… 'creature' was pathetic. To be perfectly honest.'_ He shrugged on continued on with his debrief. "The swamps are absolutely _filled_ with all sorts of nasty goobers… Atlas actually saved my life from a couple of blue skinned… water zombies of some sort... Grabbed its leg and pulled it out of the water before it could grab and drag me under." He explained, ruffling Atlas' brown head as he did so.

Valens chuckled dourly at this, "Yeah, Drowners they're called. Fucking nightmares, if you see one, there's bound to be a dozen more."

Niellan laughed ruefully, "Yup, ain't that the truth… Regardless, after that close call; I knew to stay on my toes. Lucky I did for I stumbled across some sort of community, three huts. The smell was disgusting; Wolfsbane and all sorts of stuff that I guess keeps individuals away lined the place like a damned barrier." Upon mentioning this, Niellan apparently decided that the odour of Wolfsbane was too great and hastily stamped out the fire. "I stalked the woods for a while after that; found Geralt again last night by some Peddler's cabin, didn't bother him. Though I think he knew I was there. Nothing else remarkable." He finished briskly.

Valens twirled a lock from Tug's mane on his finger idly as he mulled over the information. "Werewolf, swamps, supernaturally guarded huts in the swamp… aaaand Geralt. I think I'm even more confused than I was without the information." He stated grumpily, unravelling Geralt's missive as he did so.

Niellan chuckled amusedly, "Well. At least we have a solid from your friend."

Valens hummed in assent as he skimmed over Geralt's message.

 _'Valens,_

 _There's something foul afoot here. Either the Baron's stuck his fingers where he shouldn't have; or he's the cause of all of this somehow. Found blood in his room, wine, all the things that lead to a drunken fight, presumably; he beat his wife. However, besides the obvious reason for the wife and daughter's disappearance, something supernatural is also prowling around. Meet me back at the Red Keep the moment you receive this letter._

 _Geralt,'_

Valens frowned lugubriously at the letter in his hands, before it was set alight while still in his fingers, he watched as it burned to a crisp; the ashes drifting out of his hands in the breeze. He ignored Niellan's admiring whistle as he nudged Tug with his toe. "We ride to Crow's Perch…" He paused and looked around curiously, "Where's your horse?"

Niellan gulped.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"…"

"Do you know the shit I had to trudge through to get that fucking thing?" The Witcher shouted, irritation evident in his voice.

"…"

" **…** "

"The drown-"

" **Shut up**." Valens pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to calm himself, lest he sent the damn Werewolf through a tree. "You." He pointed at the abashed looking hunter, "Keep. Up."

He then nudged Tug once more and took off at a loose canter towards the keep, he noticed, with slight surprise that the Werewolf was actually keeping up. He himself would be able to do so easily, but not for the period of time it would take to travel all the way back to the Red Keep. He could reach his steady state at an intense run.

However Niellan was sprinting…

* * *

 **Roughly four hours along…**

Valens came to a halt as he decided not to canter straight over the rickety wooden bridge that seemed to be the apex of Velenerian engineering. _'Seriously, the fuck is with these half-arsed bridges?'_

He made to comment when a scent, a very familiar one wafted by his keen nose. Snapping his head up, he caught sight of a wispy trail of black smoke that slowly rose from behind the keep, where the assets like the stables and smiths were kept. Frowning, he nodded and raised a hand to silence Niellan's comment. "Let's move." He ordered, and with a twitch of his knee, Tug simply disappeared.

Niellan recoiled slightly as what felt like a damned sonic boom hit smacked him flush on the face. Opening his eyes after what could have only been a few seconds, he barely saw the Smoke-trotter's tail disappear around the bend of the large castle… that was easily hundreds of feet away. Jaw slightly agape, the hunter made to catch up. _'What in oblivion is that thing?'_

Rounding the corner, the Lycan quickly deduced four things…

One. The pissing barn was on fire.

Two. The mighty, Bloody Baron; was getting his ass handed to him by Geralt.

Three. Some guy was running… well, floating toward him from his left side.

Four. Valens… had just run straight into the burning building.

Niellan blinked. "I'm so confused right now…"

Shaking his aching head clear of thought, he turned to his first priority. He turned to face at the man who didn't seem to be using his legs, yet still managed to somehow retain forward movement; unslinging his longbow, he held up a gloved hand. "Err, s'cuse me sir? Can you stop that weird stuff?"

In response, the figure turned ethereal, his form becoming a wispy blue haze as he continued to move forward.

Niellan cocked his head to the side… "Okay then…I guess, you just do you…" Nocking an arrow with a practised fastidiousness, the Hunter drew, sighted, slowly let half of his breath filter out before…

 _'SNAP!'_

The limbs of his bow sprang back and with a sharp smacking noise, jerked the string taut, sending the long, barb-tipped arrow hurtling forth singing a hollow song of demise. The impact would have been meaty and disgusting…. Would have been…

The arrow did absolutely nothing as it passed through the figure with barely any noticeable resistance. Niellan frowned as the creature suddenly phased up another thirty feet towards him. It was only fifty feet away now. Blowing a quiet raspberry at the situation, he dug around in the quiver at the back of his hip for another arrow. "Maybeee… this one?" He asked curiously as he pulled out what looked to be the exact same type of barbed arrow, yet the tip of this one gleamed in the early moonlight…

A silver arrow.

Inhaling deeply, he slipped the bowstring into the groove, nocked, drew, and once again while leaking out breath; he let loose.

He watched with squinted eyes as the creature made no move to avoid the arrow, which he didn't think it could have even if it wanted to. Dodging an arrow shot by a ninety-pound yew longbow at fifty feet? Niellan scoffed. _'Nuh uh.'_

This time… the shot wasn't even close to disappointing. The silver-dipped arrow carved its way into, and through the ghost-like man's face, he watched with a sick sense of satisfaction as the man's entire skull caved in on itself; his upper torso thrown backwards with the sheer force of the impact before its spine seemed to snap in on itself with the pressure. The creature bent backwards into its legs, and with a horrible sounding shriek, it suddenly dispersed in a shroud of blue flame.

Niellan stared at the space where the ghost had been for several seconds, before shrugging. "Can't say much to be perfectly honest… I'mma Werewolf…" He said cheerfully to no one.

* * *

Valens growled at the sight of the burning barn, and the alcohol that was practically radiating from the man who was currently being beaten into the dirt. He was surprised Geralt was winning so handily, the Baron didn't exactly seem like the type to keel over too easily. Granted… he _was_ drunk out of his mind.

He made to intervene when he suddenly heard a scream of distress emanate from the inferno that was the barn. Shifting his gaze towards it, he caught sight of a silhouette, dark against the light of the fire; clutching at one of the upper windows of the farm building. The figure managed to peel himself towards the space, and as if lady fate had decided at that moment that she hadn't had her fun yet, the form suddenly slumped over and passed out against the opening, one arm hanging limply in the air, out of the window.

Snorting in derision, the Black Witcher leapt from Tug's back, and began to sprint towards the barn.

 _'Oh yeah, Geralt gets to fight the half-blind, drunk as shit old man. While_ _ **I**_ _get to run my arse into a flaming building filled with hay to save some peasant. Brilliant. Who came up with_ _ **that**_ _hilarious yarn?'_ He grumbled irritantly as he broke through the first set of flames and into the heart of the barn.

Whipping around rapidly, he saw that the barn's construction was a simple one. A large space for livestock down below, and two upper decks built on the left and right side, with ladders to reach them. He found the ladder on the left side closest to him, where the figure was; the other was blocked by flaming debris. He didn't bother covering his mouth or nose, as long as he didn't stay for supper; his mutated system would be able to withstand the fumes. Moving toward it briskly, he flicked his left hand out with a flourish and summoned the Dragon's Reach. He barely had one armoured hand on the charred wood, before the entire structure above him collapsed on itself with a roaring rush of flames and debris. Shouting out in surprise, he rolled backwards and landed in a heap of ash. Righting himself while angrily waving away the tiny specks of cinder that was currently watering up his nose and eyes. He looked up to survey his options…. just when the second stroke of downright, shite luck decided to play its hand.

He heard it before he saw it. The miniscule snap of wood that had caught aflame. Looking up at where the, who he could now make out to be a, young stableboy lay unconscious; he spotted the splintered, fiery, tree thick beam that was seconds away from falling and splattering the teenager's brain matter across the burning wood of the second floor.

Instinct overpowering all action, the Dragon Witcher slung the Dane axe from his back, and with the same motion drove it deep into the edge of the platform, using his axe as leverage to haul himself up to the platform; where unfortunately the hay was being kept, away from the livestock. _'Great.'_

The time allotted for his snarky attitude was up, however, as the support beam finally gave way with a loud splintering, cracking sound. Galvanised into action, Valens hurled himself forwards desperately. Yet he could see that while he could have reached the boy, he would never have been able to move him out of the way or stop the beam in time.

Mindlessly, the Witcher threw his axe in an overhead hurtle; his body following behind at a slower pace. The heavy axe-head, with a series of loud, whooshing spins; slammed _deep_ into the large support beam. The force behind it was powerful, enough to cut down a small tree perhaps. But this… this was a crudely thick beam of hickory, blackened and charred by flame; easily weighing over two thirds of a ton.

The impact only managed to divert its course a fraction, but it was enough. Enough for it slam through a railing, slowing its momentum, allowing Valens to take action instead of completely passing by the flimsy wooden railing and crushing the boy's skull like an overripe watermelon.

Throwing himself under the wooden beam, he span on his knees and held up his arms. He felt a shudder of pain course through his shoulders and head as the beam slammed heavily against his braced forearms before continuing down slightly and bonking him harshly on the top of his skull. Groaning in pain and exertion, the Witcher roared as he forced his legs under him and lifted the huge beam up over his head, before grabbing hold of the handle of his axe and pushing it to the side, allowing it to topple over the edge and spear into the floor below; his axe popping free as he held it firm.

His victory over the inanimate object was short lived however; as a roof without support… rapidly loses its status as a roof. Eyes widening at the revelation, Valens pivoted on the ball of his foot as the first part of the heavy, boarded barn roof came crashing through the second floor behind him; nearly setting the Witcher off balance. Roughly grabbing the stableboy's belt, Valens hurled him out the window before following suit in a similar fashion; unfortunately, he hadn't gotten away as cleanly as a large splinter of burning wood decided that his shoulder was the perfect place to embed itself. Grimacing in pain, still in rapid descent, exposé dawned on the Witcher that the boy was falling as well… and head first at that.

Clawing in mid-air at the boy, Valens desperately tried to reach him but found that he thrown the boy too far, while he had dove out with less gusto. There was only one option available to him. Valens sighed internally, _'It's either this; or his life…'_

Conclusion reached, the Witcher twirled the axe in his hand and swung, still in mid-flight, at the young teenager. The back-spike of his war axe punctured through the boy's upper hip like nail through a board, and the Witcher had barely managed to pull him back into his arms before rotating in the air, letting his own back collide harshly with the ground instead of the boy's.

He landed with a heavy _'THUD!'_ as the air was forcefully pushed from his lungs. He still managed to find a sense of humour however, when the thumb-thick splinter piercing through his right shoulder was ejected out like a rocket; a sick, morbid sense of humour.

Still holding the boy who somehow proceeded to be unconscious, smoke-poisoned, traumatised, half-dead and now impaled by a damned Viking axe, all at once. Valens smacked his head against the cold ground, a deadpan stare directed up at the sky.

 _'Flawless.'_

Was the only, sardonic comment traversing his mind.

* * *

 **AN: Fucking Telstra… fix your damned company you pieces of Neanderthal-shit. Why can't Australia have that awesome internet those cunts in Germany or the States get? Seriously man, we can have snakes and spiders crawling in our assholes every day of the week, why no decent net?**

 **FUCK YOU AXTON! THAT'S WHY!**

 **Also. If you think Valens lifting 1500 pound is a bit out his reach. Think on this. Some dude can deadlift 1400 pounds. He ain't no fekkin mutant. What about this one? A chimpanzee can pull close to 1200 pounds while agitated with ONE ARM. ONE FUCKING ARM MAN! Valens. Is. Not. Some. Damned. Monkey.**


	11. One arm, another arm, no cause for alarm

**AN: Aight… missed the due dates. Mice chewed my fibre optic cable. Had to wait to get it fixed. Military stuff came up. Woops hehe…**

 **heh**...

* * *

 _"You BIG... STUPID... JELLYFISH!" - A True Legend of the Universe_

* * *

"Kid alright?"

Valens jerked up in surprise, before with a sullen groan he rolled the teenager's body off of his and stirred his gaze to stare at a very familiar, very upside-down face. Niellan was doubled-over, hands on his knees as he grinned down wolfishly at Valens.

Slapping Niellan's face aside grumpily, the Dragon Witcher stood and stretched out his joints; before ruffling through the satchel at his belt and pulling out a swallow potion. Tipping half the potion into the half-empty canteen, he handed it over to Niellan. "Nope." He replied carelessly. "…will likely be dead in a few minutes." Was his brusque reply. "Take him to the keep and force-feed him this, it's a fifty-fifty split of either killing him or saving his life." He ordered gruffly.

Niellan raised a brow as he raised the canteen to his nose and took a tentative sniff, only to frown at the strange, conflicting scents of honey and dirt. "If I may, Master. Is that wise?" He asked carefully; fully aware of Valens' mood and his tendency to throw or kill… or brutally maim… or incinerate… things, when he got angry… Werewolves included.

Valens shrugged, "What? Raising his chances from zero to fifty? Yeah, sounds good to me." Was his answer.

Niellan pursed his lips, and then shrugged. "I guess so." He turned and lifted the stable-boy in a bride's carry, so as to not irritate the boy's injuries further. _'Poor kid…'_

Valens watched the man go, before he rolled his neck painfully and turned to walk towards the scuffle that seemed to have been resolved recently. The Baron lay blissfully unconscious in the dirt, his nose broken and jaw agape. The Witcher looming above him was staring down at him in annoyance, rubbing his knuckles that definitely ought to be sore, considering the thickness of the huge man's mandible.

Valens whistled sharply, receiving an irritated glare as the White Wolf raised a hand to his ear in displeasure. Stepping up to the elder Witcher, Valens gestured to the groaning pile of meat and armour rolling around in the mud, cuts open on his brow and lips, left eye swollen and a nasty looking cauliflower swelling up on both ears. "Why'd ya fuck his shit up?" He asked tactfully.

Geralt grunted as he nudged the Baron with his toe. "He was intoxicated, I figured out what had happened with his wife and daughter, upon questioning him he lit his own barn up in flames and tried to fight me." Was the loaded reply Valens was met with.

Valens bit his lip with a razor sharp canine, cursing and spitting out the blood as the ivory fang slipped between the soft flesh on his bottom lip with startling ease. "Alright," he started as he trickled a single drop of swallow on the lips of the broken Baron. "Well, that will cure his intoxication, would you like to enlighten me as to what happened to the girls?"

Geralt sighed and ran a hand clad in leather through his ashen hair before shrugging. Pointing to the groggy albeit rapidly sobering Baron, he spoke. " _He_ happened. As seems to be per the course, he had gotten drunk… and then proceeded to beat his wife into a bloody mess."

At this, both Witchers stepped a few paces back as the Baron suddenly shot awake. Blood still filtering slowly from his busted nose, Strenger sat up and looked around with sullen, misting eyes before he directed his disconsolate gaze at the muddy floor. The instantaneous sobering effect of the recently concocted, fresh as can be, Swallow potion clearing his system of whatever drink he had imbibed.

And in doing so, left the Bloody Baron in a state of shame and disgust.

Standing slowly, the big man brushed the muck from his clothes and hands. "Normally, I get to wake up in me' bed and have the mem'ries slowly filter back. This jus' makes me feel like shite all at once." He grumbled tiredly.

Frowning at the Baron, Valens shook his head slowly before snorting in contempt. "As it should, you debased your wife and scared her off with your daughter in tow. You're more of a freak than either of us are." Was the harsh, and yet unconditionally sincere statement.

Skirting the giant fist that had been lobbed at his head in a fit of, to be perfectly candid, nigh demented rage was child's play.

It was deciding whether to wound, maim, or kill that was the hard part. With the air from the strike whistling inches from his nose, the Dragon Witcher stepped forwards and snapped the Baron's head to the side with an elbow that, to the Baron of course, felt like it had been forged from dwarven iron.

His aim could not have been truer, as he slammed his bone against the Baron's pudgy cheek. Try as he might, Valens ultimately failed to keep the satisfied smirk from his face upon feeling his strike part layer, after layer of skin, before finally grinding into the cheekbone and would have continued on to shatter said bone completely; had he not pulled away, limiting the damage to a painful fracture.

The Baron let out a startled gasp of agony as the feeling of being jabbed in the face with a steak fork sent the right side of his face into a state of inflammation. Cupping his bleeding and rapidly swelling cheek, he righted himself and glared at the Witcher angrily; and upon seeing the Witcher impassive and apathetic return stare, his anger dissipated as quickly as it had come.

His heavy, frantic breathing slowed into something more or less controlled, and his hand fell from his cheek. "A-aye, I had drink, I beat her, and she delivered to us the following morning… my murdered stillborn." The Baron's face was blank as he confessed, like porcelain. "I buried my child that day…"

Valens grunted at this, and Geralt merely turned on his heel. "Bring him to his quarters." He ordered, in a barely restrained voice.

Valens nodded. "With pleasure."

The Baron saw nothing but the underside of a stag velvet boot, before his entire world went dark…

* * *

 **Several hours later…**

"You beat them." It wasn't a question at this point. It was a statement.

The baron, who was currently rubbing a huge, calloused hand over the split in his cheek, more for something to fiddle with than the pain itself; nodded meekly.

Geralt straightened and nodded at Valens. Who stood, watching, listening. At the elder Witcher's nod, the raven haired Witcher grunted in assent, and happily moved to sit with Niellan; who was currently eyeing the different bottles of liquor stocked by the Baron's bedside. Besides, his interrogation was more of a… hands on approach.

"You like rum, right?" The Werewolf asked curiously.

Valens shrugged, "Only if it's the kind that burns a hole through your throat. I swear rum is only thing that gets better the shitter it tastes."

Geralt tuned the child-like Monster and Monster Slayer out respectively, and focused on the thoroughly tamed man in front of him. Clearing his throat, he revised his initial statement. "And you have been beating them for quite some time now. It's now that they've finally decided to do something about it. Is that right?" He asked, knowing the answer already.

The Baron whirled on the Witcher and stomped his foot angrily, completely oblivious to the fact that the Werewolf and Dragon Witcher respectively had fallen completely silent, and were watching him _extremely_ closely.

"I've NEVER laid a fucking finger on Tamara! NOT ONCE, NEVER!" He roared, the wetness in his eyes glinting in the firelight.

Geralt, unfazed, merely made a gesture with his hand. "Right…" was his drawn out reply, "And your wife?"

At this, Phillip turned back around and sat in the chair facing the fire; abashed. "That's… another story. Anna; that woman always knew how to spark my ire." Was his bitter reply, to which Geralt rolled his eyes.

Snorting scathingly, he retorted, "Your _wife_ , how'd she make you angry? Too much salt in the soup for dinner?" He asked mockingly, "Socks not warmed enough by the fire?"

Phillip spat into the fireplace at this, "My _wife…_ twenty years we'd known each other. She'd seen me drunk, and sober. She was there to greet me when I stood victor, and **she** was there to patch my ragged ass up, when it got handed to me on a fucking plate! Witcher… she knew; she knew where to prod, to poke and stab, so as to make sure that it would fucking hurt." He confessed; his swollen lips thick with blood.

Geralt shrugged, "So you beat her? For that?"

The Baron snorted as he leaned back in his chair. "Oh Witcher... You haven't a damned clue have you? You mutants with your thick hides, that have seen endless lashings in the fucking face of criticism." He shook his head despairingly, "We _meagre_ humans ain't so used to that. Especially from our wives."

Geralt stepped away from the railing of the hearth at this and stepped up beside the Baron, glaring at him in ire. "Like I give a shit." He replied venomously. "You _knew_ that they had run away. You wasted my time, had me running around like some simpleton, searching for what had already been found."

The Baron shook his head in response, "I didn't fucking know where they were! They would be here if I did!"

"Then why didn't you tell me that you knew they had run?"

"Put yourself in my shoes! What kind of flaccid prick would ye think of me, if I had told you 'I can't control me own fucken' wife!'"

Geralt smirked, though it was one of cruel nature. "I would have thought you a flaccid prick, yes. Now I think you a fat woman with a sallow cunt. _Brilliant_ compromise, Phillip." The White Wolf ignored the two spit-takes from behind him, and the howling laughter that followed.

He then sat down beside the Baron, who paid him no heed. "So, how about you stop playing the idiot, hmm? You drove them away, you left them no choice but to."

The Baron looked at Geralt for a second, before sighing heavily. "Anna and I, well, all was not as it seemed."

Geralt raised a brow, and he heard Valens curse under his breath as the breaking of glass echoed out from behind him. "Alright." He offered only after glaring at the two buffoons behind him. "I'm all ears."

The Baron scoffed in amusement, though it was hollow. "Anna… she came to me after a three days soak. Said she was leavin', I begged them tuh' stay! But she refused to hear it… I tried to stop her," he looked away at this, away from Geralt, and stared into the fire. "She wriggled like an eel, she fell… I woke up in the morn; breeches soaked with me own piss, bump the size of a fucking knuckle on my head… They were gone." He then looked to Geralt and snarled. "Know what the fuck that's like Witcher?... No, Melitele's divine tits how could you! I was left with nothing, nothing but the bottle!"

Geralt shrugged, not paying the abrasive words any heed. "Tamara present for all this?" He asked curiously.

The Baron sneered at the Witchers casual dismissal before his shoulders turned lax. "From the doorway perhaps, she nay interfered." The Baron's eyes misted over at this, almost wistfully, thinking of what could have happened should she have done so.

Geralt didn't respond, merely waving a hand to continue.

The Baron obliged, reluctantly. "I blacked out, don't know what happened after." He paused and sighed. "I woke up, don't know how many fuckin' sunsets after. Walked into my room and… it got worse."

"How?"

"There was… blood everywhere. Anna wasn't there." He then looked at Geralt, and the White Wolf finally saw the cold pain in his eyes. "But I knew; she'd miscarried. I neared the bed, and saw it. It lay there, defenceless. Dead."

Geralt digested the information quietly before grunting softly, "What did you do next?"

Strenger pulled off one gauntlet and threw it to the floor sullenly, "What was I to do? I took it out, and buried it."

"Just like that?"

The Baron stood, chair rattling backwards as he spat Geralt a venomous glare. "Damn you!" He made to step forwards, when the back-spike of a Witcher's axe suddenly found itself pushed an inch or so through the breastplate on his chest. However the Bloody Baron paid it no mind. "I gave no thought to a funeral. It was a horror, I wanted it to end! That child was my fucking dream! Understand Witcher? It was my second chance, MY CHILD IS DEAD!" He finished with a roar of spittle and sorrowful anger. His shouting lasted for less than second however, when the axe lodged into his armour suddenly dragged the Baron back and launched him back into the chair he had been occupying, which nearly toppled over from the weight.

Geralt waved a hand at Valens and stood slowly, "Get a grip. Men like you look downright pathetic when you whine." He replied, a distasteful look on his face.

The Baron looked at him incredulously, before shaking his head. "You are a heartless bastard aren't you?"

Geralt snorted in amusement at this, "Hmm, I guess the mutations worked then. Here's the good news, your dead child might be able to help us find your missing wife and other child that's still alive." He stated factually.

The Baron's head whipped around at this, "What? How can that be?..."

Geralt shrugged, "Sometimes miscarried children who aren't given proper burials turn into botchlings."

A look of confusion was what met his statement. "Intuh'… fucking what?"

Geralt made a gesture with his hand. "A botchling; a cursed fiend that draws strength from eating the fetus of pregnant women."

The Baron stood slowly, "What kind of fucking horrors do you deal with Witcher?"

Valens piped up at this as he pulled the axe out of the Baron's chestplate. "We deal with them so you common whelps don't have to."

Geralt flexed his bicep experimentally, before loosening one glove slightly. "We can use the blood ties connecting it to your family line. Legends claim that burying it beneath the family's threshold and preforming a ritual will turn it into a lubberkin. A sort of… hob, a guardian spirit." Geralt yawned before speaking again. "Or we could kill it, take some blood to the Peller and let him do the rest."

The Baron shook his head at this. "Do not. Kill my child, please Witcher. Lift the curse so that it may finally have peace." He pleaded.

Geralt nodded, "Regardless, we need to find the creature first."

Strenger grunted in assent, "I'll show ya where I buried her, I'll dig the other grave as well."

Valens stood at this, tossing the empty bottle of rum aside. Niellan beside him look peevishly at the foul drink. "Nay tell me that drink won't lull me to a dazed mess," The Werewolf began before staring at Valens with a look of danger, though understandably it was mute. "It better not be so."

Valens shrugged with an almost unperceivable smirk gracing his features, "If it is any consolation, I can only get drunk with enough alcohol to drown a whale." He pointed to the gruff looking Witcher who was watching the both of them with a raised brow. "That git will never even feel buzzed."

Niellan's eyes widened as he levelled a pitying look on the White wolf, before immediately looking away as a prickly snarl met him as he did so.

Chuckling lightly, the Dragon Witcher brushed off his front and made his way to the exit. "I have heard enough, make sure the townsfolk draw a line of salt outside their doors. Botchlings attract spirits, so a perimeter check might be in order." He supplied, eager for action.

Niellan stood and trailed behind his master. "About that-" He paused roughly as every eye turned to him almost as one. "Erm… I shot ghost thing that was floating at me with a silver arrow. I think I killed it."

Valens cocked his head to the side, before sharing a look with Geralt. Turning back to his charge, he cocked his head to the side curiously. "Maybe lead with that, instead of reaching for the rum next time."

Niellan scratched his head nervously. "Hehe, yeah…"

Valens' eye twitched.

* * *

 **Sometime later…**

Valens frowned as he trailed behind Geralt, out of sight, and out of mind as the other Witcher and the Baron made their way to where the fetus had been buried. A hundred or so feet behind stood Niellan; silver arrow notched and ready to loose at a moment's notice.

He watched as the two stopped by what looked to be a grave that had… exploded from the inside, the plank of wood that served as a makeshift grave marker reduced to splinters, and left to rot in the cold and rain. Speaking of rain, Valens jolted slightly as a crack of thunder whipped down from the heavens, and along with it, a rainfall heavy and thick.

Cursing softly under his breath, the Dragon Witcher pulled out his saxe knife and sliced across his forearm, resulting in a light gash.

Roughly a dozen seconds passing, he felt the bushes shift beside him as Niellan prowled up. "You called?" He asked inquisitively.

Valens grunted and pointed up as the first wave of rainfall crashed on the leaves of the sparse canopy overhead. "Thunderstorm, the rain's too heavy for your bow; remind me to tell you to get a stronger one. Besides that, it will wash away our scents and tracks; leaving you with only your Dark vision to guide you." He nodded as Niellan cursed in realization. "Stick close, don't shift."

Niellan frowned at this as he watched Geralt kneel over the grave. "I won't be of much use then…" He supplied cautiously.

Valens shook his head, "Within fifty feet, your arrows _should_ fly true; anything over and there might be some slight deviation. Besides, if you take too much of a beating you'll shift regardless of whether you want to or not." He replied quickly.

Niellan grunted softly, "Very well- Valens?" The Werewolf blinked in confusion at the empty space beside him, and the soft prints left in the mud of where the Witcher had been crouching. "I have to learn how he does that…"

* * *

Valens stood atop one of lower branches within the closest tree towards the dilapidated ruins of the burial ground, Geralt was speaking to the Baron, before his head suddenly snapped up and the White Wolf whirled around.

The scent hit Valens microseconds later, and he too smelt it; the ruined, decayed flesh of an acidic supernatural horror. A botchling.

Valens stiffened slightly, this was it... It was Geralt's choice to either slay the creature or convert it; he was simply present as fall-back plan. Botchlings always attract the spectral, wraiths and the like would trail after the creature, gobbling up the souls of its kills.

Slipping from the tree quietly, he unslung the war axe from his back and held the long metal shaft in his hands loosely; his eyes and ears scanning the surroundings. He frowned as Geralt made a gesture, and the Baron scooped up the small creature in his arms. _'Damn… killing the thing would have been easier. Oh well.'_

He stayed close as the two walked plainly through the roads of the Red Castle, keeping a wary eye peeled for any shimmers in the moonlight. Curiously, he couldn't actually spot Niellan in the rain; the hunter was truly quite skilled in concealment.

It was then that he felt it, the subtle shift in temperature, the slow gradual decline as the wind became frosty and the rain that fell in his vicinity began to look less like water and more like slush. He saw Geralt's shoulders level as he too felt the atmosphere grow arctic.

And from the ground, like wisps of icy smoke did the first of the wraiths appear; its putrid talons reaching for the small of Geralt's back...

Valens exploded forwards, his sheer explosive power splattering the hut he was crouched beside with mud and grime as his powerful legs detonated with strength of a rampaging stallion. However, there were three inanimate objects, long and fast with gleaming tips that were even faster that flit past his head with sterling precision.

The three silver-tipped broad heads carved their way into the wraith before exploding, sending small splinters of wood and silver pieces flying like insignificant shards of shrapnel. Geralt paid it no heed, only nodding as he shoved the Baron forwards, who had begun to whirl around at the commotion. "Your pet is a decent shot…" He murmured as Valens slammed his axe into a second wraith that had crawled over the top of a small shack by the road. The White wolf then turned an eye onto the bewildered man beside him, "And you, keep walking. Don't stop."

Valens grunted as cleaved apart another spectral undead, "What am I, your chauffer?"

Geralt merely shrugged, tilting his head to the side almost in a bored fashion as another ghost like entity wisped by him, charging at the axe-toting Witcher. "You said it, not me."

"Albino shitstain."

"Meh."

* * *

Valens frowned as he led the way to the castle entrance, the Baron and Geralt a small ways behind and Niellan darting through the side streets with a supernatural agility, yew longbow in hand. The attacks had stopped several minutes ago; he would have labelled the ordeal as resolved… however the air, the rain, the chill down his spine… it was still ghastly.

Something was ahead, and the Dragon Witcher would wager that it wasn't about to invite him in for a cup of tea.

Stepping past the deserted portcullis of the castle, as per the Baron's orders as every citizen and soldier was locked inside. Valens quickly surveyed the area; several things were concluded at once.

Niellan had just scaled the outer walls and was securing a vantage point atop the barristers, the two men and one botchling behind were still progressing slowly; with Geralt measuring out careful doses of Axii in order to calm the fiend. The surrounding chill seemed to originate from this central location, and to his front lay a peculiar sight, that being of an entity; wreathed in black plate-mail surrounded by wisps of icy smoke; which stared him down as he entered the castle grounds, unmoving.

The arrow that whistled through the air towards the figure's heart was smacked aside with the pommel of its greatsword; which had manifested in its grasp out of the chilling smoke. Valens let out a slow breath and rolled his shoulders in cautious anticipation. The creature looked eerily similar to the Riders of the Wild Hunt, however he knew better. The Wild Hunt was spectral, but not as potent as what stood before him; this was no Rider… stood before him was a Rime Draug.

In response to the threat, the Draugr simply raised its head towards the arrow's origination, spotting the leather-clad hunter watching him patiently; the atronarch of undeath looked away, back towards the Witcher in front; seemingly registering Niellan as immaterial.

Valens snorted softly as he raised a hand, signalling Geralt and the Baron to move off towards the keep; where the botchling was to be buried. He heard Geralt's footsteps come to a halt, presumably upon spotting the creature.

"Don't die."

"Uh huh."

And the footsteps continued.

He looked up to Niellan, who was looking to him for orders. "Go with Geralt, you can't shift here. Protect the Baron." His tone brokered no argument, and he barely acknowledged the Hunter as the man slipped down from his perch and ran in Geralt's wake.

Valens stepped forwards, and stopped when the Draugr mimicked his movement. Smirking, the Black Witcher clenched his left hand, and at the tips of the clawed talons of the Dragon's Reach, an almost eldritch distortion of the air could be seen.

He waited for a few seconds longer… nothing… a few mo-

Valens grunted in alarm as the Draugr's hand shot forwards in a blur and a beam of ice as thick as his finger pierced through the space where his head had been. His own hand came up in retaliation to the two more spikes of ice that were sent towards him, which were reduced to arctic dust as he met the two beams with focused streaks of Aard.

With the combat initiated, the Dragon Witcher leapt forwards into a dive. The Draugr in response stood motionless, Greatsword still planted into the earth. However it was _its_ turn to feel surprised as the Witcher propelled himself forwards by blasting a large, powerful cone of force magic behind him; sending him rocketing forwards to clear the fifty foot distance between them within the span of a second.

There was nary a sound from the undead as the silver edged axe head cleaved deep into the tarnished plate and decayed flesh of the Draugr's chest. Ducking under the retaliatory swing, Valens placed his boot into the Draugr's hip and shoved the creature back; ripping his axe free as he did so sending shards of bone and metal flying.

The undead skid back a few feet before lunging forwards with a lance of sheet ice, which was smashed to shards almost immediately as the Witcher rotated the axe with his wrist and in the same motion pivoted on his back foot to jam the butt of his war axe into the undead's full-faced helm; the attack opened up an opportunity, an opportunity consisting of one-on-one combat supremacy.

The pommel strike was manipulated masterfully into a downwards slash, that carved through the breastplate like butter. The slash was thrown aside as the Witcher pivoted again, stepping out of the way of a rambunctious uppercut before his gauntlet clad fist crashed against the Draugr's greathelm in a steel-rending left hook, sending the undead stumbling back. However respite was not granted as Valens perfectly kept pace, slamming another overhead hook into the faceplate… and another, and another before finally blasting the Draugr onto its back with a powerful shotgun blast of an Aard.

The thunderous boom of force magic against rang out through the clearing for a small while as the two warriors resettled themselves; both infinitely more wary of the other. Valens' face was stoic as he circled the Draugr slowly, despite the exchange that had ended decisively in his favour. The Draugr likely did not feel pain or fatigue, whatever was keeping it alive; be it a gem, rune or mystical enchantment on the corpse itself, was going to take a lot of swings and slashes to destroy… unless.

Stepping to the side as a plume of frosty mist passed by him; which effortlessly froze the rain that fell through its space into little droplets of crystalline ice, Valens responded to the follow up wild sweep of the black steel greatsword with two handed parry, using the small amount of time afforded to him as the huge sword recoiled from the stalwart block in order to switch his sign and drown the Draugr in a swath of flames. The reaction was… gratifying.

The undead warrior of hoarfrost and spectral superiority; screamed.

… And the Wiedźmin of fire and force grinned.

It was the first sound it had made throughout the entire battle, despite the savage strike he had landed in the first few seconds, despite the numerous blows from either his gauntlet clad fist or the shaft of his Danish war axe; the creature had suffered it all in absolute silence. The cry of agony was like music to Valens' ears.

Capitalising on the moment, the Witcher tightened his open palm; and the flamethrower like gout of flames focused into a jet of fire akin to a blowtorch. As his left hand remained raised, the flames spewing wholeheartedly from the clawed fingertips; his right hand choked up on his axe.

One swing... One arm.

Another swing... Another arm.

A dozen more and 'tis nay longer cause for any alarm.

The flames died away as quickly as they had come, and Valens found himself looking down at a putrid mound of melted armour, cooked flesh and charred seeming decayed bones. Nudging the seared breastplate with a booted foot, Valens recoiled hastily as a jet of ashen, diseased smelling steam squeezed its way through the cracks of the armour.

He snapped his fingers, the clunk of metal digit against metal digit making a peculiar sound, and the smallest of flames was birthed on the tip of his index. Pointing his finger at the pile of scorched gristle as if it were some sort of backfire-prone cannon; Valens made to clean up the mess when _something_ caught his attention.

There was a scent in the air; one that wasn't detected by his nose… one of danger.

Directing his gaze up slowly, he scanned the courtyard before him carefully; before his scrutiny continued even further upwards.

And there, perched on the edge of the bulwarks of the stone wall surrounding the Red Keep itself; sat a supple looking figure. Wreathed in black furs and brown leathers, head and face doused by a deep cowl as _she_ criss-crossed her legs playfully while observing him. Upon witnessing his notice of her, she raised one of the hands that had been supporting her weight in her casual lean to wave almost flirtatiously… before she pushed off from the edge of the wall; causing Valens to cock his head to the side in curiosity. _'That's a twenty foot fall… quite a stretch to land safely with those heels on.'_

To his mild chagrin, his curiosity piqued as she waved a hand mid-fall, slowing her descent dramatically; and almost as if she weighed less than a feather, the figure drifted down and landed, heels be damned, softly on the mud of the courtyard… which _of course_ turned to ice beneath her; providing footing that shan't sully her boots.

Valens' head almost fell off as his head cocked to the side even more as the woman turned, and with an almost seductive swagger to her hips; stalked through the icy blue portal that cracked open across the stones of the outer wall.

Valens pursed his lips, before he opened his mouth… only to close it again after a few seconds.

…

...

"Huh…"

* * *

 **AN: OoOoh a sexy, mysterious sorceress wearing all black with a seeming command over frost and necromancy! Yeah don't worry; we've** ** _all_** **seen it a billion times; just stick with me on this one. This one is way cooler… it is** ** _me_** **after all for fucks sake.**

 **Also yes, I'm aware that this fight went extremely smoothly. I decided to give you fuckers the treat of watching some cool shit unravel so a drawn out fight would have eaten into the 10,000 word mark. (YES! You read right, I get carried right the fuck away with fight scenes. I've had to stop myself throughout this whole** ** _story_** **and just highlight n' delete thousands of words at a time purely due to the datum that I have no self-control whatsoever.)**


	12. Seeds of Darkness

**AN: Just as a side note, almost all side quests in Velen will be completed before Valens and Co move on towards Novigrad. Also, yay. An update on time for once in my fucking life!**

* * *

 _"Great, is the weapon the cuts on its own…"_

* * *

Valens snarled in irritation as a low lying branch cracked against his chest as he rode, leaving what was probably going to be an itchy welt beneath the leather he was wearing. The ethereal glow of the lubberkin and the kicking of dirt from Geralt's mount were ahead of him as he rode. Nudging Tug with his toe, the Dragon Witcher nestled down low behind the smoky charger's nape quickly and thankfully so as the Zerrikanian pure-bred seemed to almost teleport to Roach's side he had accelerated so quick.

He didn't bother looking behind for Niellan, the Werewolf would be able to follow through scent alone, the stormy rain that had accompanied the 'sorceress' and the undead fiend seemingly fading, along with them; diminished instead to a light mist.

The mad dash to follow the brightly glowing form of the levitating lubberkin slowly slackened as the two Witchers seemingly came upon their destination. The spectre of the Baron's deceased daughter simply vanishing upon completing the task asked of it. Before them, on the edge of what looked to be a small lake sat a doleful little hut, the strands of fishing wire and frayed nets that were hung on the outer walls spoke of a fisherman's abode.

Valens dismounted and made his way to the hut, with Geralt in tow. The black haired Witcher entered first, gently pushing the door open and stepping inside; the air around his gauntlet clad hand distorting merrily.

Within he found a modest family, adorned in rags and patchwork clothes. There was a middle-aged man with a brown unkempt beard sat at the table, two small children and a fairly striking peasant woman tending to the fire. Valens made to speak before something akin to heartburn began to curse its way up through his stomach, he winced as a spike of darkness pierced his eyes, and a deep hunger suddenly injected itself into his veins. Stepping back out of the door hurriedly, he grabbed Geralt's shoulder and leaned in. "I think I'll wait outside." He grunted lowly, before quickly brushing past the man. Geralt nodded wordlessly, his own yellow eyes fixed on Valens'.

Stepping into the misting rain left behind by the storm, the Black Witcher stumbled towards Tug, who quickly trot over and allowed the man to steady himself against his flank. However Valens was blind to his faithful companion's worried stare, his vision was instead plagued by flashes of euphoric maliciousness. His thoughts were invaded by flickers of indulgence, he watched himself in his mind's eye relentlessly dominate the peasant mother, taking a sickening amount of pleasure in her silent wails before digging blackened fingers, burnt by darkness, into the flesh of her bo-

 _'Valens…'_

A whisper…

The faintest of echoes… but it was there. A voice. _Her_ voice.

Valens' head snapped up, the wisps of black fading from his eyes as he looked around… and saw nothing. Sighing heavily, the Dragon Witcher looked up to the dark, rolling clouds above that were gently dousing him with the lightest mist of water.

"Cirilla…" He whispered softly, before burying his aching head into Tug's flank… before immediately recoiling as his forehead came into contact with the thick, warm liquid on Tug's flank. Observing his precious steed, he found claw marks gouged into his side. The Dragon's reach faded from his arm as it was sealed away, Valens made to step back in horror before Tug rotated and pinned the man against his neck with his head in a gentle embrace.

He heard a soft rumble through Tug's throat as the horse nuzzled closer to his master. _'Is it over? Are you okay?'_ He seemed to ask.

Valens said nothing, he merely stared at the blood caking Tug's flank with an unreadable expression. The proud horse had merely stood there, waiting for his master to snap out of his reverie even as the very same man raked his sides in his throes. The Witcher slipped from Tug's warm embrace and pulled Kingsfoil from his pack before munching them into a paste, and pressing the green past into the wounds, he then pulled out a hide-skin pale and splashed some swallow into it before diluting it with water.

He held it up to his horse, his voice barely a weak whisper. "Drink all of it… I'm so sorr- "

His words were met with blunt trauma to the head as Tug bashed his steel-hard skull into Valens' cheek. _'That's enough. We both know you would never do that in your right mind.'_

Valens stared at his horse incredulously before watching the very same horse almost bury his head into the bucket in a brilliant display of idiocy, splashing the healing draft everywhere in his efforts to drink. Valens let out a small breath and finished dressing Tug's, thankfully minor wound; though the moment had passed, the desires lingered…

 _'This is getting worse… That Azure Knight, I now truly feel the extent of his suffering. This malevolence, this… Abyss. Tis' more than just bad dreams now.'_

He looked up as he caught the scent of Geralt stepping out of the hut and making his way towards him, he felt a hand on his shoulder as he was forced to turn around.

"What was that?" Came the collected voice of his superior.

Valens stared at him and shook his head, "Bad memories, from across the ocean. Left a few scars..." He was caught off guard as Geralt suddenly grabbed his chin and leaned in to peer curiously at him.

"Your eyes were completely black, whites and all. Just golden veins of your Witcher eyes were all that remained." Geralt grunted as he was shoved back a few feet or so, the force actually sending him into the air as he reeled back. Landing easily, the White Witcher glared at the Black Witcher, "Those just 'bad memories' as well?" He asked accusingly.

Valens' lip twitched in irritation, flashing an ivory fang that flashed in the moonlight in doing so. "Enough Geralt, it's a confidential matter." In an effort to calm his raging blood, the Dragon Witcher turned and hauled himself onto Tug's saddle. "What did you learn from them?" He asked austerely, completely and knowingly changing tack.

Geralt stared at him for a small while before snorting, "They came here, avoiding the Baron. Tamara's in Oxenfurt with the Fisherman's brother. Anna was apparently branded by something; her hands were glowing with fresh cattle-brands in a strange symbol. They were then attacked by a large beast, horns, and orange eyes; ripped Anna's packhorse to pieces before carrying her off."

Valens leaned forwards and placed his head atop Tug's tiredly. "God damn it."

Geralt shrugged, "Let's go for now. We have next to nothing on the Baron's wife, we'll have to investigate the attack site, see what did it and where they went."

Valens grunted in assent as he turned Tug around and took off a loose canter. They rode for roughly an hour before both Witchers looked at each other simultaneously. The galloping of horse hooves could be heard ahead.

Both Valens and Geralt slowed as they caught sight of the Baron cresting a bend in the road, who was seated atop a large black Warhorse and Niellan, who was similarly seated in what was obviously a borrowed mount; Atlas was loping along by his side, silent as a shadow despite his stock. The two Wiedźmin's moved to meet them, and they came to a commune on the muddy road.

"Witchers! Your man here led me to you's. What did you find?" Came Phillip's out of breath voice.

Valens nodded, "We have information on your daughter. She's in Oxenfurt, safe and with what I gather of no intention of returning to see you."

The Baron leaned forwards in confusion, "Why the blazes… is she safe? Secure? How do you know, and don't fucking tell me that it based off of them blasted commoners!"

Geralt slapped his reins across' Roach's neck and moved the horse up, "She's in Oxenfurt."

The Baron shook his head, "No, you need to go bring her back! At least see her with your own eyes and tell me she's safe! I shan't believe anyone else!" he yelled in an almost child-like manner.

Valens sighed, "I'll see to this."

The Baron's inflated chest slowly quelled, "I… I'm grateful… here." He then reached into his belt and pulled off his entire coin pouch.

Valens raised a brow in curiosity, "What's this?"

The Baron waved his hand, "Consider it a motivation, besides they've locked the fucking place down tighter than a priest woman's arsehole; ever since the Redanians took hold of the Pontar Delta." He then looked to Geralt, "and of Anna? What have ye learned?"

Geralt idly made a gesture with his hand as he replied, "We'll talk about her, don't you worry. But for now, you tell me about Ciri; like we agreed." The words were accentuated somewhat as his yellow eyes glinted in the moonlight.

The Baron exhaled in defeat, "Fine. A word once given…" He then sucked in a breath, and here on the muddy road, with misting rain drenching them ever so slowly… he smiled fondly and recited his tale.

"When Ciri was on the mend, we took her out on a hunt. Thought some galloping would return some blood into stiffened limbs. She hunts well, took down a giant boar with her sword alone. Races like the fucking wind! Stole me damned horse from under me in a wager…

We were celebratin' her victory when she suddenly stopped and held up her hand, her eyes narrowed and her hand went back to her sword. She knew something was afoot… me? I was fucken standing there with a thumb up me arse like a damned buffoon! Didn't notice shite, and wouldn't have even if it were under me blasted nose.

This… creature came hurling from the tower, screaming and screeching. Two of my men who had their cocks out takin' a piss were squashed into red milk stains when this creature landed on them. Some ran… some didn't make it." The Baron seemed to snap out of his reverie and shook his head, "What happened next, Witchers… I've seen many a thing, but, nothing like that." He then looked up, a hard steel in his eye.

Both Witchers rolled their eyes simultaneously.

"Wait! What happened next!" Niellan shouted, leaning over his horse like an enthralled puppy.

Valens smacked him on the head as he rode past, "He won't tell us any more unless we find his wife you idiot."

The Baron chuckled softly, "Fucker learns fast." He watched the two ride off, he turned to Geralt and whispered. "He yours?"

Geralt raised a brow, "I'm sterile."

"Not what I meant."

The White Wolf shrugged, "I helped train him with his mentor… though he is his own man, he wasn't my apprentice for long, grew in skill far too quickly."

The Baron made reply, though Geralt did not hear it. Instead, his mind was replaying the darkness in Valens' eyes. The moniker of the Black Witcher of Cinder was never a more fitting name…

* * *

 **Several hours later…**

Niellan frowned as he stared down the man in front of him; he was currently in a village on route to Oxenfurt. Velen was a land plagued by monsters, bandits, and… well, plague. The duo had agreed to split off and collect some bounty, while he wasn't exactly the most experienced of individuals in bounty hunting, his tracking, his durability and sheer power in Lycan form would provide him with the means to deal with most that came his way. Valens warned him not to take anything that hinted towards the spectral, as his stock of silver arrows were running low and his reading of the Bestiary wasn't yet completed. But the contract he had chosen, this, _'Jenny O' the woods'_ seemed like the perfect beginners choice. Sightings in a village, followed by stolen crops, nicked animals and the like; he would wager bandits. The reward was rather high as well, which was a definite positive since his equipment was rather subpar…

Returning to the rather slow individual before him, Niellan made a grandiose gesture. "My friend, I can assure you that my hunting skills will put to shame any in this village. Atlas n' I here will take care of this nonsense." The Werewolf stated as he gestured to the Velenerian War hound that sat attentively on its haunches.

The man looked at the dog and pursed his lips, before nodding slowly. "Aye, he looks a strong type tha' one. Alright mister, have it your way." He replied, his speech lax and dull.

Niellan nodded as he fiddled with the longbow on his back, "About the reward."

The simple man seemed to sharpen at this, as all men do when money is involved. "Aye?..."

"Three-hundred."

He was met with silence before the peasant sighed, "I s'pose it _would_ be Jenny O' the woods, but can you drop it a bit? We're just short…"

Niellan shrugged, "Two-eighty-five?"

"Aye, we can afford that. Thank ye sir!" As Niellan made to turn, he held out his hand, "uhh, sir! You'd best want to try asking Agneta! Rumour has it that she saw the ghost!"

Niellan shook hands with the man and left quickly, the house smelt of stale cheese and brine, the stench was pervading his scents in an awfully unpleasant manner. He then snorted softly, _'Ghost… why would a ghost steal your pig you damn dullard? I wonder if this is why Geralt is so cranky looking all the time…'_ He thought to himself with a small snicker.

The Werewolf frowned as he stepped outside once more, the moon had still several hours to travel before the sun could take its place. Stepping out into the village of huts and hovels, he sighed upon scanning the vicinity. "Well, might as well get started, right boy?... Atlas?" The Lycanthrope looked down, only to find that his War hound was halfway through devouring a chicken.

Niellan stared at him. And Atlas stared back impishly, his mouth agape and half a chicken stuffed inside. "What in-"

 _'Snap!'_

Chicken was gone.

Niellan shook his head as Atlas retched out a handful of feathers, "No wonder you're getting so damned fat!"

They walked for a few minutes before Niellan crouched down beside a small stray who was sheltering beneath the foundations of some ramshackle looking house, the old pooch looked up at him fearfully before bowing its head in deference upon taking in his scent. Niellan fondled its ears and lifted the weak hound's head up gently, his eyes flashing silver. "Agneta, you can take me to her can't you?"

The old stray stood and with a low, weak bark took off in a limp towards the gardens, with Niellan following behind as he led his horse. The Werewolf stretched out his stiff neck as he mused to himself quietly. "Wonder how Valens is doing…"

* * *

 **With Valens…**

Valens stepped to the side and unleashed a torrent of flames, turning the wild dog that had just leapt at him into overcooked barbeque. The second was grabbed by the throat and thrown at its associate, sending both toppling over each other as the Dragon Witcher cleaved another two into quarters.

Pivoting in a series of quarter rotations, the Witcher stepped aside as the second last canine made a dash for his flank before he scrunched his gauntlet clad hand into a tight fist, golden fire spilling out from every crevice before he sunk his plated knuckled deep into the other charging dog's head with a resounding crunch, right before the shockwave of flame from his hand exploded forth and scattered the wild beast before him in a cloud of singed fur and cooked flesh. Valens flinched slightly and spun when he heard a sudden _'squelching'_ noise, turning, he was greeted with the sight of Tug's sharpened hoof speared straight through the final canine's head, the ground being splattered with bone and brain chunks as the horse had done so.

 _'Got one!'_

Valens curled a lip back in disgust as he quickly wiped the filth from Tug before the stench set in. "Nice work… I guess?" Before the horse could reply, the Witcher tapped him on the nose softly and turned away, moving towards the graves he had been investigating before the dogs had come. He heard the dashing of hoof against dirt as Tug made himself scarce, instantly recognising the command and awaiting Valens' signal.

Kneeling down before what looked to be a recently dug up grave, Valens grabbed a handful of the freshly excavated earth, letting it sift through his fingers as his brow furrowed in thought. "Tools weren't used, and the ghouls came _after_ it had been dug… curious."

He stood and made his way to the next grave over, which also looked like it had been dug up; he made to kneel down and investigate when a decayed scent suddenly invaded his nostrils. The Witcher's head snapped up as the scent lit up within his senses akin to how a candle in the darkness would. Golden eyes pulsating with the sudden lock on his quarry, Valens unsheathed his silver Saxe knife and trekked through the bushes that surrounded the cemetery; the runes that sat etched into the silver sailing dagger glowed a vivacious crimson in the proximity of the creature.

The Black Witcher of Cinder was no Dragon tonight, in his stead prowled a predator; a jaguar hunting fodder for supper. With the moon still relatively set in the sky, naught even the gods above witnessed his presence as he slinked through the cemetery, stalking the road southwards before quickly scaling the side of a dilapidated cobble bridge. Before him, beside a small game trail slumped a dishevelled hut. The decayed, festering scent was bathed upon it.

Making sure to keep to the foliage, the Witcher vaulted the small rickety fence surrounding the hut gracefully. His stag velvet boots barely even pushing indents into the dirt his tread was so hushed. Placing an ear to one of the small cracks in the side of the hut, Valens stilled himself and listened.

The air rustling through the trees became dulled, the gentle cracks and shivers of the forest around him were dimmed; even the wolf pack a ways away who were currently calling to each other with long, monotonous howls were tuned out as his senses focused on the hut with supernatural fastidiousness.

He listened… and heard nothing.

Pulling away from the rotted wood, he cautiously made his way towards the only door which faced the game trail, and pushed it open. Inside, was a smattering of rotting grass and bushes, lined with some sort of black, foul smelling tar like substance. The previous owners seemed to have been 'evicted', as there utensils, their living spaces had been being used by whatever creature had decided to make its home here. Stepping inside, Valens quickly surveyed the area and came to the conclusion that he was alone.

Stepping over to the cauldron that was hung over a… smouldering, fire; Valens peeked inside and frowned at the contents.

"Homebrewed stew, ingredients… a bunch of gross shite and child's femur." He eyes narrowed as the bone cracked and sank deeper into the foul mix. _'I hope the kid had already perished before this fucking thing nabbed him or her. Damn…'_

His gaze left the disgusting cauldron, and locked onto a peculiar sight. A human skull, placed within the centre of a magic circle, judging by the runes. Understanding dawned as the Witcher took the iron hook from his belt and hooked the skull to lift it from its place.

"Grave Hag… likely grew confident with the lack of resistance and moved from desecrating cemeteries to desecrating the living villagers. This should piss it off," He stepped out of the cabin and frowned upon seeing the moon sinking lower. "-let's hope I can force it out of its hiding tonight while it's still dark out…"

* * *

 **With Niellan…**

Niellan softly scratched the old mutt behind his ear and fed him a strip of jerky, booting Atlas softly in his rear when the War Hound began to drool at the sight. "Thank you old chap, run off now before this dolt eats that _and_ you." He whispered quietly.

The shaggy grey hound bumped its nose against his legs in gratitude before limping off, back to where it had been resting in the moonlight.

He still had several hours before sunrise, so it was a pleasant discovery to see that the old woman; Agneta was already up and tending to her flowers. The Hunter approached her, making sure to make his presence known. No point in giving the old girl a heart-attack…

"Scuse' me ma'am? I was looking for Agneta?" He asked gently.

The old woman stood and turned to face him, her face smudged with dirt. The smelly man was right, the faint traces of a long ago beauty that she would have once had still clung hopelessly to her, she would have been quite the looker thirty or so years back. She peered at him curiously, leaning forwards to make him out in the darkness.

"Aye, and who's askin'?" She replied guardedly.

Niellan stepped forwards and raised a hand in greeting, "Niellan, a hunter from afar ma'am. I'm here for your band- err… ghost problem." He hastily amended.

The woman however didn't seem to notice, or care as she began to nod quickly. "Aye! Yes, I saw her! Clear as I see you now mi' lord!" She half-yelled enthusiastically.

Niellan hid a chuckle; her choice of words weren't the most flattering, if her squinting and leering to even make him out was any indication.

"Of course, ma'am, d'you know where by chance?" The Hunter asked patiently.

The old woman nodded and pointed a gnarled finger to the north-western side of the village, where the fields sat and farmers toiled. The silver Lycan looked back to her and grunted curiously, "What did ye do when you saw it?"

The elderly widow scoffed haughtily, well, as haughtily as she could for a peasant. "What you think, me love? Ran for the village to tell em' what I'd seen!" She exclaimed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Niellan then pursed his lips and shrugged, he had changed radically in the last month while the rest of the world stayed stagnant; it probably _was_ the most obvious course of action. Turning his attention back to the woman, he nodded slightly and stepped back, "Thank you ma'am, I'll see if I cannot resolve this matter. Have a pleasant day, now." With that, the hunter turned on his heel and moved towards the fields.

Vaulting a couple of rickety fences, having to stop and pull Atlas out of one when the oafish dog had gotten wedged in between two posts, he came upon a relatively small patch of crops; enough to sustain perhaps a family of four. It seemed the fields weren't communal in this village, whereas White Orchard was. Slowly stepped through the planted assortment of northern, bland yet hardy vegetables; the Hunter came upon a small patch of tilled ground that seemed to have been ravished by heavy footfall.

Kneeling down beside one of the more offish footprints, the Hunter tracked the gait and saw that it led _to_ the village. He snorted softly as he looked around and quickly found the returning footprints. "Ghost my arse…" He muttered softly. "They would have come in from this angle out of cover," He looked up and saw that ahead was indeed where the forest and untamed greenery grew closest to village. "-taken their fill from the carts and pens and left in the same manner. Batty old lady obviously can't see at night, if she couldn't see me now in the wee hours of the morning. She must have seen them and gone loopy." The hunter circled around, and caught the sight of a large indent in the mud, porcine prints beside them. Niellan thought for a moment, before the distinction of frantic footprints in all directions in that exact spot cleared the story. Which was strange, as this particular story was written in mud. "Her shouting and screaming must have spooked one of the thieves, who dropped the swine he was hauling before scrambling around to nab it again… What'chya think, Atlas?" The Hunted turned to see Atlas staring up at him, completely and utterly bored.

Frowning at his hound, the Werewolf then closed his eyes and allowed his other senses to clarify. Beneath his eyelids, his eyes began to glow silver as he forced the change to restrict itself. Then, almost like being smacked with a crate of scented goods, a rush of different odours hit his nose all at once. Flowers, sweat, dirt, Atlas, the rust setting in on the nails of his boots, the pig, the several men and women that were here. Recoiling as he reversed the change, Niellan stood and sneezed.

"Melitele have mercy! Gotta refine that a little more..." He grumbled in exasperation as he wiped his now sensitive nose. With a curt, hollow whistle and a snap of his fingers, Niellan pointed to the ground as Atlas instantly shot up in alertness from his hunched position, "The men and the pig, lead."

The Velenerian Wardog barely even sniffed the air as he instantly took off into a steady lope, throwing Niellan off-guard and forcing him to catch up. The Werewolf glared at the muscled hound, _'Could've helped out earlier if you already knew what we were doing you furball!'_ He berated his pet mentally, and instantly regretted it as he passed through a cloud of dog farts the subject of his ire had left behind.

They ran for several minutes, weaving through the trees and bushes, mantling rocks and the like before a sound drove them both low to the ground in caution.

Shouting… gurgling, and metal clanging. There was conflict ahead; and one side was losing badly…

Niellan brushed past the bushes, his hunting experience of stalking prey with much higher sensory capabilities than humans kicking in as he manoeuvred through the forestry with nought a whisper. Atlas, who was raised by the Werewolf proved himself to be equally as adept, trailing behind with the soft pads on his paws, body lowered to the ground as he kept vigil for his master.

The low moonlight here was more vivid than it had been before, and upon cresting a small knoll in the landscape, the Lycan found himself speechless at the sight unravelling before him.

There were several shredded bodies strewn about a small campfire, the few goats and the pig that had been stolen from the village had been butchered in an almost ritualistic manner in a circle around the campfire. Two figures, both male and female respectively were currently fighting for their lives with simple looking weapons that harboured gleaming edges, fighting against what looked to be…

"A wraith." Niellan stared down the shadowy, decayed woman fraught with tendril like rags who seemed to shimmer before him with a look of shock and apprehension mingled with exasperation. "You have got to be kidding me…"

* * *

He didn't have to wait long…

It was the stench that awoke him from his meditation first; it was always the smell. The snap of the small twigs were the next to reach his senses. The Black Witcher of Cinder stood from his Witchers Rest position and grabbed the skull from the small stone altar in front of him. He was currently situated within the crypt of the cemetery, good as place as any he supposed.

Still naught turning around to face the Hag behind him, the Wiedźmin very purposefully extended his arm to the side, and with nary an effort shattered the skull in his grip. The reaction was instantaneous, he heard a scream from behind and the rushing of feet as the Grave Hag moved to rake out his ribs from behind.

Stepping deftly to the side, the Witcher allowed the horrid looking necrophage to collide into the stone table in front of him harshly before he equally as harshly reached over and dashed her head against the stone twice.

Stepping back casually, the Dragon Witcher simply leaned back to avoid her retaliatory strikes as he receded out of the crypt to gain a less restrictive terrain over the Grave Hag. Valens stalked backwards slowly, watching as the Grave Hag spilled out from the crypt entrance, her long, boil infested crooked nose crushed completely to the side in almost comical manner due to his ruthless assault.

Unleashing a putrid squeal of hate and hunger, the Necrophage charged at him, the poisoned blood within her veins pulsing with her intent to kill. Valens smirked, he wasn't as resistant to toxins as most Witchers; the Grave Hag's ranged attacks consisting of poisonous swamp mire would have been irritating to deal with, however enraging her into this state forced her into a blood frenzy.

He waited until she reached within striking distance before he struck, he dipped under one of her long, gnarled arms before the silver dagger sang a hollow tune of devastation as he swept it through her chest, warping his clean dodge into a picture perfect reprisal strike.

The Dragon Witcher leapt back, a shudder traversing down his spine as one of the wretch's festering, sagging black and blue breasts pulled away from her body and hit the floor with a nauseating _'squelch!'_ Valens reeled back as the screams raped his ear canal again. "Gods that is horrid…"

If she had been frenzied before, the look in her yellowed eyes now were almost palpable with insanity. This time before she managed to get close, Valens flit his blade across a strip of leather that held a small ball-like vial of swirling red fluid and plucked it out of the air as it fell, before in the same motion flung it at the Hag. He stepped into her mad dash as the vial shattered and doused the Hag's rotting face in its contents; screaming in frustration the creature stuck out blindly in response, even as the Necrophage oil burned into her flesh and seared her eyes.

Flinching slightly from the unexpected attack, the Witcher took the strike on his arm as he jammed the blade deep into her stomach before dragging the blade across, spilling out her innards; a grunt of pain escaped his lips however as a claw raked across his back in retaliation. He sent her reeling with a quick, unfocused Aard before he rotated his grip on the Saxe knife and went to town on her face and throat regions; slicing grievous wounds into the flesh and forcing the Necrophage oil deeper into said wounds.

Stepping through and under her guard the Witcher hauled back his gauntlet-clad fist, and with a decisive grunt sent it plunging into the side of the Hag in a left hook that shattered her ribs into literal fragments. His right hand wielding the magical silver blade pulled away from her gut before slamming deeply into the side of the Hag's head, stapling down the wrinkled hand that had been desperately scrabbling at the oil coating her face, before he simultaneously let loose the Aard that had yet to be released in his left fist, which had still remained buried wrist deep into her side.

 _'Boom!'_

The explosion was somewhat muffled by the Hag who had absorbed nearly one-percent of the force, yet it was still not something to scoff at; evident as the body was sent scattering into the night air, intestines and bone shards splattering the nearby gravestones and such as the creature's head he still held impaled remained immobile. Turning, the Witcher lifted the Grave Hag head plus hand that was forked onto his knife aloft so as to not drip any bile onto himself as he let out a curt whistle.

Tug broke through trees a few second later, not sparing even a word… well… not sparing a thought to the mess as he bumped against Valens hurriedly, practically scooping the Witcher into the saddle before taking off at a canter towards the village. Valens yelped in terror as he was forced to clutch desperately at Tug's mane lest he get thrown off the back. "Shit, Tug! Slow down!" He shouted as he felt his rear slipping from the saddle.

Thankfully, the smoky-coloured steed quickly slowed to a more manageable pace. _'I'm sorry! I thought I was going to puke…'_

Valens frowned, "You've _dealt_ stenches way worse than that you donkey arse of a horse!"

Tug shook his mane vigorously as he trotted down the road, _'Mine are dignified, that was just yuck! Can you not kill things without making a mess?'_ The horse seemed to ask in what was the equestrian equivalent of exasperation.

Valens scoffed at this, "Melitele have mercy; well you shan't let _me_ keep you from stroking yourself dry. Can horses even fucking puke or too was that amongst the same run of shite you normally spew?" He asked with a shrewd laugh, wary of being bucked off.

 _'…'_

Valens smirked and bided his tongue; it was rare he got one over the damnable horse. Best not to ruin i-

 _'You smell terrible.'_

His smirk faded as quickly as it had come. "It's the Grave Hag's head I am currently holding you oaf."

 _'Oh, truly? I couldn't quite distinguish_ _ **its**_ _stench from yours, terribly sorry.'_

"…"

 _'Hmph.'_

* * *

 **AN: Good ol' Tug. Wonder if anyone has picked out from where I got the inspiration. It shall remain a mystery for now I guess.**


	13. A friend in a high place

**AN: By the way, I updated the introduction in the prologue to something a little more dramatic. Go give it a read.**

* * *

 _"_ _Come, Shining Hawk of Zerrikania. Test your silver against the greatest Ulfhedinn to roam the southern Deserts. I have torn asunder the kingdom of Wu'naz with my bare claws; neither man, nor beast has ever reared against me and subsisted another day. Will perchance a silver-eyed hawk alter such fate?"_

 _–_ _Alpha Werewolf Nakos of Illyra, the Crimson slaughterer to Vesh of Illyra, Grandmaster of the Hawk School; moments before scattering the Witcher's bones to the Desert sands._

* * *

Valens said nothing as they crested over the lip of a sunken valley, the sight of the sprawling city before him squeezing out small pin-prick of stress from the rigid muscles in his back. Leaning forwards slightly over Tug's neck, the Witcher groaned in satisfaction as he was rewarded with several pops and cracks. Looking up at the sun, the Dragon Witcher frowned; an annoyed crease that marred his elegantly alluring features. Reaching down and taking one of Tug's floppy ears in his hands, he began to play with it as he urged the horse forwards. "We have been riding for nigh six hours, a nice meal and a warm bed sounds good enough to slaughter a family for right about now… What about you, my noble steed?" He asked, leaning tiredly against Tug's neck.

The horse in question merely snorted softly, _'Wanna double down? Ride six hours back to_ _ **her**_ _smoky little hut?'_

Valens scoffed lightly, a flicker of black infecting his golden orbs before the light eventually proved too immense a foe. "That's not funny, Tug."

 _(Roughly six hours prior…)_

His head snapped to the side as a macabrely familiar sound penetrated through his ear canals, the light tap on Tug's flank gave the order; and the stallion detonated forth with a crusader's vigour.

It was screaming… The odour of burning wood and smoke hit him seconds later, and he leaned forwards as Tug accelerated into a gallop.

They broke through a copse of tall grass, and were immediately greeted with the sight of tiny hut, the beginnings of a roaring inferno catching alight on the thatch roof, the screaming of a terrified girl could be heard from inside. Valens dismounted and slapped Tug on the rear, sending the horse off as he unslung his War axe and made his way to the hut. He stopped however, when he caught the sight of four ragged looking men, soot and dirt smudged across their face, clothes rank with piss and grime.

"Oi! What're ye think yer doin?" One of them shouted, however Valens didn't deign to respond. He merely took a single glance at the barricaded door, trapping the woman within before his malevolent gaze resettled upon the thugs. His direction changed as he tacked course and bee-lined it straight for the men, the first recoiled in alarm as the muscular figure with the glowing eyes suddenly appeared twenty feet closer.

His head hit the floor before his rusted short sword had even cleared its scabbard. The second shouted in shock mingled with fear as gristle scattered across his face and eyes, he reached up, and at the same time screamed as he felt wickedly surgical slice across his belly force out his lunch all at once. The third was quicker to react, however quicker, did not necessarily mean superior. He soon learned this as his off-angle strike that would struggle to even cut air was battered aside with the stranger's hand. The brigand had gone from wondering why his blade was flying through the air, to wondering why _he_ was flying through the air; before a blast of focused Aard sent him skipping across the ground like a pebble across a lake, sending him careening through the door that he had barricaded in the first place.

The last tried to run.

 _Tried._

The Danish War axe slammed into his thigh with a calculated strike, only travelling far enough to bite into the bone whereas it could have slice completely through. However time was of the essence to the Witcher, who yanked backwards and hauled the thug into the air force was so great. And there, in amongst that momentary lapse of gravity where the man hovered parallel to the ground for the smallest fraction of a second; his head was suddenly sent rocketing to the floor when a blast of pure force magic shot him back down to the hard earth face-first.

Valens had already turned around by the time the sound; the sloppy squelch of a shattered skull squeezing out fluid that had no right seeing the light of day, reached his ears.

The Witcher paid no heed to groaning man who lay in the threshold of the doorway, if he desired so, Valens could probably hear the morbid grinding of the cracked and broken bones as the man clawed his way outside. Bursting into the hut, he forced a hand up and snuffed out the lick of flame that had strayed perilously close to his face.

Looking around hurriedly, Valens pulled down the curtains that cordoned off what looked to be the woman's sleeping area, ultimately fearing the worst. Strangely, it was relief that met him when the cast iron frying pan was hurled by his head. The elven girl recoiled upon seeing his golden glare settle upon her, she made to speak before she was quickly pulled out from under her bed and forced off of her feet into a brides carry.

The She-elf seemed to find her voice the moment the Witcher submerged his back into and through the flame as he took the brunt of the heat in exiting the hut.

"I-I can walk…"

Valens looked down at the elf in his arms and frowned as he laid her gently on the floor, his eyes glowing faintly as he scoured her for burns. Thankfully, they were all minor, the she-elf remained silent as he examined her. "Forgive me miss, had to check for any burns liable for infection. Are you hurt in any other way?"

His brow rose in confusion when he was met with a silent look of caution and worry as she stood. She didn't respond as she took in the mangled corpses splayed about grotesquely in front of her flaming abode. She pointed to the one with the strawberry jam for a head, "That's your doing?" She asked, her voice neutral though the Witcher could pick out the underlying tension in her face.

Valens looked over and winced slightly, stepping forwards and blocking her view, he made an apologetic gesture. "I needed to deal with them quickly, I didn't know how long you would last… you needn't look at them."

In response to his last statement, the elf laughed mirthlessly. "You think I haven't seen worse, D'yaebl den Esser?" The ancient words were uttered with a mix of different emotions, awe, terror, and misgiving.

Valens' eyes widened momentarily as he stepped back slightly, "The Devil Eater… I haven't heard that name in a long while." He mused, his mind drifting away to his younger years; younger years as in ten years ago. He then snapped back into focus, "You are one of Isengrim's then?" He asked, eyeing the she-elf with a newer, much more indiscernible look.

The elf shook her head, "Not I-" She recoiled slightly as a part of her roof collapsed behind Valens, the pain evident in her face as she watched her home burn.

Valens turned and frowned, raising his hand he closed his eyes and focused.

 _'_ _Whoosh!'_

The flames flickered. His frown turned into a sneer as the force magic pooled in his hand once again.

 _'_ _Boom!'_

The shockwave that cascaded over the house forced it into a permanent slant, the dirt was kicked dozens of feet into the air and the small bushes and trees were flattened. The fire was no more; reduced to mere smouldering embers with naught the strength to flame alight.

The soft gasp of surprise made him turn, he grinned half-heartedly at her. "You can at least gather your belongings now…"

The elf stared at him; a now piercing and resolute look swimming in her verdant green eyes. "I owed you my life before, now what? Will you force your cock inside of me, Devil Witcher? Will you bathe in my ichor like you did my people when you found them, wanting." The words were delivered with vehemence, despite the warble of fear in her tone, despite the welling of tears in her eyes and the quivering of her chin.

Valens closed his eyes as the memory came to him, he remembered the feeling of a liquescent crimson running through his fingers, as he ripped the bodies of the Scoia'tael asunder with the poetically brutal services of force, fire and steel. He opened his eyes, and even the she-elf could firstly witness the regret coasting in his draconic, golden eyes. "They betrayed me." Was his response.

The elf did not reply, she merely stared at him, thinking, unravelling his words.

The Witcher sheathed his axe. "It was a mistake, on both parts. Theirs, on believing that I would not understand, that I did not care about their well-being." He paused and turned, walking to where his horse waited patiently for him. "-And mine, for losing my temper." He mounted with a single strong haul and urged Tug into a gentle trot. "I only wanted to help, miss. I want nothing from you."

 _(Present time…)_

 _'_ _Yeah, yeah I know… I'm pretty sure I see a few strong looking fellows ahead by that tent over there; if you're still in the mood."_

Valens glared at his horse before burying is face even deeper into his cheeky stallion's neck in a dry heave, "Thaft's gwoss! I ain't shum shtinkin' Nifgwaardian!" He shouted, his voice muffling against Tug's smoky grey coat.

Tug grumbled gently in his throat, in both irritation and warning. _'Stop drooling on me!'_ He then shook his mane, before hastily rearing to the side and catching his rider before he was shaken off; knowing full and well that his insufferable human would one-hundred percent allow himself to slide off and slump face first into the dirt. _'Oi! There's pinkies in metal here, stop being so intolerable!'_

Valens grumbled as he forced himself to sit up straight, "How rich… what next, are you going to take my axe and become a Witcher?" He asked with a tired chuckle, trying and failing to keep his words from slurring together. "Trial of Grasses like that white-haired ponce? Or you gonna make me proud and undergo the Trial of Demons?" He rambled on.

Tug didn't grace him with a response.

Valens pouted unhappily, "Man I had to eat… ugh, nevermind."

There was still no response.

They rode closer to the garrison for several minutes before Valens blinked, and almost in an instant came to attention, the drowsiness and dull stupor that had maintained him for the past few hours dissipating as if it had never been there.

He rode straight past the first caravan that was parked by the road with nary a glance, though while he did not slow, or even move his head; the Dragon Witcher still saw all.

There were all sorts of tents and carriages that had been pooled up outside the city. Travellers, nobles, soldiers, and… his eyes narrowed as he watched a slim she-elf, clad in painfully tight acrobatic leathers, undress him hungrily with her intoxicating eyes as he rode past. _'Performing troupes.'_

There was a flicker of black in his eyes as he returned her gaze, and he watched with a strange conflictual mix of satisfaction and discomfort as she recoiled slightly, before the hunger in her eyes returned with a severe intensity. Tearing his gaze away, Valens closed his eyes and forced his mind to divest itself of all influencing thoughts; grasping for the gleaming blue light in his mind as the draconic mutagens in his body cleansed him of the darkness. For now at least.

Stepping through the first checkpoint, Valens dismounted and led Tug over the stone bridge that led to Oxenfurt. He stopped however, when a spectacle wearing nobleman, rolled up scroll in hand called out to him.

"Excuse me, rider!"

Valens turned to the man and came to the rapid conclusion that he was facing an official envoy of Redania upon spying the seal pinned to breast, perhaps one of the tax and legislation offices if the multitude of different scrolls and seals stapled to his belt was of any indication. He stepped forwards and took the hand offered to him.

The envoy observed him curiously, nodding almost approvingly at the slitted golden eyes that reciprocated the observation in turn. "Forgive the interruption, Witcher," He amended, "It seems you are set on entering the city." It wasn't a question.

Valens found himself slightly taken aback. Officials, especially desk hogs who favour the likes of financial co-ordination and or evaluation, certainly weren't as composed in conducting their businesses as this man appeared to be. Most were either timid or meek, instilled by slander, abuse and perchance a vicarious beating at the hands of those who refused civility, or they were utterly arrogant and rude; hauling around a contingent of guards. This man was neither.

Upon closer inspection, it was clear that this official was no stranger to conflict. He wore a well-crafted longsword of a reliable northern style at his hip, the handle of which boasted worn leather; indicating use. The attire the man had chosen wasn't as pompous as those of the other officials he had passed by further down the bridge; this man wore studded leather, expensive and uplifting yet practical and unrestricting.

"I am, is entry of the city not tax-exempt?" He asked warily. _'Well, that explains the Baron's generosity.'_

The man smiled good-naturedly. "Unfortunately not, although the payment is not one of coin; one would require a pass to enter the city. King's orders I'm afraid, on the premise of denying spies." He supplied helpfully, though it was said in passing; as if he was merely aiding with enquiries. "However, that is not why I called for you." He admitted quietly.

Valens raised a brow, "Oh?"

The middle-aged man tugged on his cross between robes and armour, straightening it with a humble smile. "I am no delegate of the Redanian council as you might have assumed, sir. I am Antarus Vermuellen, noble brother to the Duke of Creyden, Serdosse Vermuellen; this badge grants me safe passage through the Redanian checkpoints."

Valens angled his head back slowly, taken aback for the second time since meeting this man. "I was under the impression that Kovir and Poviss were sworn to neutrality?" He asked curiously, completely disregarding the other man's status and whether or not he would see offense.

However Antarus instead laughed at this, seemingly appreciative of the Witcher's knowledge. "Why yes, Master Witcher. It would be a breach of sanctity of state, and thus would destroy whatever claims we had to independence and nationalism; however Redanian's would stop at nothing towards gaining Kovir as a potential ally." He then tapped his chin thoughtfully, before shrugging; "Well, truth be told neither would _any_ of the other kingdoms…"

Valens cocked his head to the side in curiosity, before nodding in agreement. Kovir and Poviss was the wealthiest Kingdom in the North, even Nilfgaard with their reckless abandon towards living lavishly were respectful of Kovir's wealth and commerce. To have such well-equipped troops, and more an absurd amount of coin to throw at recruitment, transport, materials and the like; well, the war would have been all but over by now.

The Dragon Witcher pulled Tug closer, seemingly anticipating the man's agendum. "Agreed." He stated firmly, "However I do doubt that you hailed me to discuss politics. What do you require of me, Lord Antarus."

Antarus shook his head slowly, "No, while an interesting conversation it was; I find myself in need of your skills. I called for you, upon observing that great big axe on your back, your armour, your warhorse and thine's unerring confidence in one's own presence, a trait I brand to the legendary Knights of the Koviri court." The Koviri Lord held out the tightly scrolled parchment in his hand out to Valens. "The fact that you are indeed a Witcher indicates that I have been extremely fortunate." He paused as Valens unravelled the scroll and scanned its contents with deciphering golden eyes. "Within you will find a contract, claiming that you will aid me in my endeavour to retrieve a certain item of political intrigue for an agreed upon price." He supplied endearingly.

Valens frowned at him, "I don't like the mention of 'servitude' in here." He stated very deliberately.

The Koviri barely even faltered, he simply pulled an inked-quill from his pouch and scratched through the offending lines. At Valens' curious look, the man shrugged once more. "I know of your, albeit bloodthirsty, though trustworthy reputation, Black Witcher of Cinder. I desire your aid in this endeavour more so than whatever nonsense is scribbled on that parchment." Was his stalwart explanation.

The Dragon Witcher blinked, before looking up to the descending sun. "How lengthy do you expect this quest to truly be?" He asked.

Antarus made a vague gesture. "With your efforts, perhaps naught a day; without… undoubtedly longer." He readjusted his spectacles and called over to a young boy who had been caring for his horse, the horse being a jet black Barded Warhorse itself. "A convoy of Koviri and Redanian guard had been attacked in a most gruesome manner, what I seek has been stolen by the beast. It seems to prowl a road in particular, meaning it could have made nest close by." He said in a tone that indicated he was merely grasping at straws.

Valens however nodded as he hauled himself into Tug's saddle, waiting for the Koviri to follow suit. "You are somewhat correct. A creature will not make infertile its hunting grounds with its presence, though it will never be too far." He corrected helpfully.

Antarus looked far from displeased at having his statement amended, as many a noble would have been. Instead, he grinned at the Witcher with dazzling white teeth; "And that explains why it was propitious to have found you, mister…" He trailed off inquisitively.

"Valens."

"Mister Valens." He said with a nod, he then pulled another scroll from his belt and offered it to the Witcher, who reached out with a gauntlet clad claw. Antarus seemed to reel back slightly, before marvelling at the construction in something akin to fascination. "Now that, is truly something else."

Valens flexed the articulated digits before reaching down and scratching Tug behind the ears gently with the razer like claws. "One of Bras of Ban Ard's machinations." He replied as he flicked the scroll open. Scouring the contents revealed it to be a quite detailed map; the cartographer must have been a proper master of his craft. There was a specific route descending north towards Oxenfurt with small marks made every few thousand feet. There were five marks in total.

Antarus had made a comment while he had been reading, something about Bras; however upon seeing Valens' concentration, had quietened. He nudged his horse into a steady trot to stay alongside the Witcher. "Those marks are the locations of the different attacks." He added after seeing the Witcher look up from the map.

Valens grunted softly, unknowingly letting his vocal cords grind into each other in a way that only a beast could match; not noticing as the Nobleman flinched slightly at the guttural, inhuman sound. "I figured as much, my, my, it's getting quite bold isn't it." He stated with a raised brow, upon seeing that one of the attacks had been launched naught a half-hours ride from a Redanian outpost.

The Koviri delegate sighed upon hearing this, "Yes, sir. That attack is the one responsible for my presence here." He admitted wryly.

Valens made a sound of assent before making a vague gesture with the Dragon's Reach, "Very well, I hope to resolve this rather quickly. Shall we press on?" he asked for the sake of being polite.

Antarus in response slapped the reins across his charger's neck and sped off towards the Redanian outpost. "With haste!" He shouted with a laugh over his shoulder.

Try as he might, Valens couldn't quite stifle his amused grin. Both at the likeable man's exuberance and Tug's writhing beneath him. After a few seconds of torturing his horse by forcing the competitive Zerrikanian to watch the other gallop away, he smacked Tug's ear playfully and braced himself as the smoke-trotter made a mess of the dirt road, bolting as he did from a dead standstill into a gusting gallop.

* * *

With Niellan…

The Alpha Werewolf vaulted over the crest of the hill he had been hiding behind as he pulled out a silver arrow, while simultaneously unslinging his bow from around his shoulder. Nocking an arrow with practised deftness, he drew back effortlessly and loosed.

 _'_ _Thwack!'_

He knew. The moment the silver tipped arrow had scraped past the Yew wood of his longbow, he knew it was a perfect shot. The arrow hurtled across the clearing, the swan feather fletching of the shaft carving through the air; producing a gentle whistling noise as it did so. The silver pierced through the elbow of the wraith and stapled it to the spectral creature's flank; halting the swipe of its elongated, talon-like claws that would have sliced apart the man who was still reeling from a previous blow like a hot knife through butter. Seeing the opening, the portly looking male stepped back, and instead of capitalising and attacking; turned tail and scrammed for the trees.

Niellan cocked his head to the side as the remaining woman looked over her shoulder to snarl a multitude of, what was a downright frightening string of extremely unlady-like curses at the fleeing man's back. His amusement was short lived however, when the second silver arrow he had loosed simply passed through the space where the wraith had been standing; the first that had actually pinned the spectre's arm down simply fell to the floor with a dull clatter.

It was the air that bristled against his back, the chill that flicked at the tips of his ears that forced him back down to the ground as the wide arc of the razor sharp claws came scraping through the space where his head used to accommodate.

Atlas reacted even faster than he could, lunging at the ghostly apparition and tearing off a chunk of decayed flesh from its thigh when the wraith blinked out of existence, before reappearing behind the Velenerian War hound and slamming him in the side with its other claw.

Niellan winced as he heard Atlas' pained yelp as he flew into the clearing over the hill, his heart lurching slightly in his throat. He hated losing hounds.

Firing off a quick succession of arrows, Niellan pulled three arrows from the quiver by his hip and nocked.

 _'_ _Schlick!'_ The first arrow sheared through the wraith's open mouth, severing its horridly long tongue that leaked from its jawless maw.

 _'_ _Thunk!'_ The second, nocked, drawn and loosed before the spectre could make use of its ethereal form pierced and stuck into its left breast.

He managed to nock the third arrow before he was forced to weave under a flurry of swipes from the enraged creature. Reeling back at the ferocious onslaught, the Hunter let himself fall backwards down the hill, hissing in irritation as a particularly spiky root sheared a gash across his back as he rolled. Recovering amiably, Niellan managed to draw the arrow before he half squealed, half roared as a mangled ghostly visage greeted him face-to-face from mere inches away.

Whether he would have been able to shift and defend himself before the ghastly creature had dissected him… he would never know. For as he raised an arm to quell the Wraith's attack, the spectral sword it had conjured met not flesh, but steel.

Niellan's eyes narrowed as the metal gleamed in the moonlight, reflecting off of his now silver eyes. _'No, not steel. Silver.'_

He finished the thought as his face elongated into the gaping maw depicting the visage of the Silver Alpha of Heatherton. The streamlined, now nine-foot-tall Werewolf boasting flawless silver fur and a glare of dangerous potency lunged forwards, slipping around the woman who had saved his life and in turn saving her life as he grabbed a hold of the Wraith's claw that had been streaking for her midsection.

He ignored the startled scream of _"Holy shit!"_ As a flood of adrenalin pulsed through his cursed, lycan-enhanced veins. _He could grab it…_

Victory gleaming in his eyes, Niellan raked a giant claw across the Wraith's face. Grinning madly at its wail of shock, shocked that he could harm it, and pain, pained due to the divots gouged across its face.

Seizing advantage, the Werewolf took the allotted time to force the Wraith onto the ground; where to its dismay, it found that it could not teleport away while in the ravaging Lycan's clutches. Growling at the squirming pissant trapped beneath his weight; Niellan mauled the Wraith something terrible. The chunks of decayed flesh that rained from above came first, and then the bones, finally followed by limbs and intestines before with a swirl of spectral smoke the Wraith dissipated in throes of abysmal agony.

Niellan found himself disappointed as the gore coating his muzzle also turned to smoke and wafted away in the wind. Standing from his hunched position, the Silver lycan let loose a howl of triumph.

The fearful whimper from behind when he finished made him turn slowly, looking over a silver furred, muscular shoulder; the Werewolf levelled his curious stare at woman who had been left to battle with the Wraith by her lonesome. Niellan found that his thirst for blood hadn't yet been sated, and so lowered his centre of gravity in a slow prowl towards her, eyes narrowing hungrily.

The woman who was still stood where she had been seemed to freeze where she stood, fear, confusion, and hopelessness causing the silver sword, her only defence to fall limply from her hands. The Werewolf stopped, its gaze following the sword as it fell and bounced his head bobbing in tandem. It almost looked… cute. Then its gaze suddenly raised to devour her entirety in a silver glower.

It stepped forwards, and she flinched; eyes shut tightly as she awaited her brutal death when the sudden popping of bones and creaking of muscular fibres stretching and contracting severely permeated the clearing.

She opened her eyes to find herself staring at the handsome brown haired hunter who had saved her life, completely and utterly naked. She let out another shriek as the bushes behind her seemingly exploded, shooting from them a ball of muscle and brown fur landing in a predatory stance; ready to tear out throats at a moment's notice. Upon scanning the vicinity and deeming it safe, the strange breed of dog stood straight and threw itself into the hunter's arms, yipping excitedly.

Niellan chuckled as he slung Atlas over his shoulder as he examined the wou-

 _'_ _What the?'_

The wound that should have been at least grievous, carved into the hound's side by a set of decayed claws infested with maggots and rot… was a mere scratch. A scabbed over set of claw marks no more severe than the scratch of a particularly thorny bush. Tossing Atlas onto the ground hurriedly as the Velenerian leaned down to snap at his privates, he flicked him on the nose and smirked when the War Hound sobered into an immediate alert. "Patrol, tight."

Atlas barked once and sprinted off into the surrounding trees, patrolling the area with sight, sound and scent in a reasonably tight circle. He then remembered the woman standing in front of him and snapped his gaze up to her. "Oh, greetings!"

"…"

His friendly wave turned into a sheepish head-scratch as he laughed nervously. "Hah, erm. Good fight, too bad a little… a few…" He stared at the mangled corpses littering the grounds and then looked towards the trees where the other man had fled. "-most of your men got offed."

The woman stared at him with a queer look, and Niellan found himself appraising her appearance. She was dressed in lightweight leather Witch hunter gear, studded, cured leather that would most certainly fetch a pretty price in the markets. His gaze then fell on the woman herself, and he found himself intrigued by what he saw. She was an attractive blond of what looked to be Ard Skellige origin, hair braided into a single long thread that she let drape around her neck. Her face was weathered somewhat, likely from sailing the North-western oceans; yet it did not detract from her appearance in his opinion. His gawking was cut short however, when the woman cleared her throat and scrabbled for her sword.

"Are you friend or foe." She asked curtly through tight lips.

The Hunter in turn cocked his head to the side slightly, before catching himself and straightening. _'I think I've been spending too much time with Valens…'_

Shaking his head clear of distracting revelations, the Werewolf held out his bow and dropped it to the ground slowly. "I mean you no harm ma'am."

The woman however seemed slightly unconvinced, a naked Werewolf in human form's word be damned. She made to step forwards threateningly before her knee suddenly buckled under her weight; Niellan started forwards to help her up, however quickly re-evaluated his actions when the silver sword's gleaming point was brought up to stop him. The Witch Huntress looked down to where her hand clutched her side, revealing the blood spilling from a wound that rapidly stained her leathers. The sword tip began to wobble in the air, the strength leaving the arm that held it aloft before with a desperate look, a look of hopelessness that crashed over her features. The silver sword fell from slackened fingers as she slumped forwards and fell to the side over her legs. Unconscious.

Niellan leapt forwards with a startled shout, kicking aside the silver sword and rushing to her aid. "Oh shit! Hey lady!"

The Werewolf grabbed her shoulder gently and sat her up, cursing at the situation; he sliced away her armour with fingertips that suddenly elongated into claws and examined the wound.

The long gash that cut diagonally under her breast and across the side of her abdomen could have been fatal. In fact, as he hurriedly pushed the swollen flesh back into her stomach; he decided that it _was_ fatal, unless he could do something.

Grunting more from habit than exertion, Niellan hefted the Skellige huntress into a bridal style carry, before moving her to the long dead campfire. There were still remnants of a camp, the bedroll and the tent had been knocked down though it hadn't seemed to have been ruined by weather.

The Hunter quickly lit a small fire and increased Atlas' patrol to a one-hundred-foot radius around the camp. He worked quickly and efficiently, the memories of his past hunting experience of skinning and dressing his kills setting his mind into a single knife-point focus. The silver sword was thrown into the fire, quickly heating to a red glow. The Huntress' clothes were sliced away and the wound was cleaned with the extra bottle of rum he had nicked from the Baron's chambers and mistlecotton that Valens had given him; which was perfect for soaking up and stemming bloodflow. He folded the scarf that had been part of her attire into a makeshift gag and placed it into her mouth before propping her head up on the bedroll.

Taking the sword from the fire, Niellan stole a breath to steady himself before hovering the tip over the wound. The injury was long; he would have to take metal to flesh repeatedly. Grimacing in anticipation, he pinched the parted skin together and pressed the glowing flat of the blade against the wound to cauterise and melt it closed.

She awoke with a scream.

The Hunter forced her down with a supernatural strength as he forced close the flesh, the woman's screams were somewhat muffled by the makeshift gag in her mouth, though it was there more so she didn't bite through her tongue in agony. He tried to comfort her, yet he could see her eyes darting around fearfully, her toes curling in pain before her body started to slacken again.

He pulled the blade away, wrinkling his nose at the scent of burning flesh before thrusting it back into the piping coals of the crackling campfire.

A long sigh escaped his lips as his 'patient' passed out once more.

 _'_ _Whom'sts child did I kick to deserve this mockery?'_ He asked nobody in particular.

* * *

With Valens…

The Dragon Witcher frowned at the tracks on the ground, he then looked to the toppled cart, then the direction the attacker(s) had struck from. He could see how the Redanian's would think this a mere monster attack. The wounds imparted on the soldiers were vicious, their parts were splayed across the road like slop and the gouged scores alongside the carts were eerily reminiscent of claws. However, to a Witcher, the muddied water visible to others was crystalline.

He had seen wounds of these makings before. Blades of elven make, especially the Elders of the Aen Sheide with their fondness for surgical weaponry were certainly capable of inflicting them. The rest was a ruse, limbs had been sawed off and tossed aside to mimic an animal attack, arrows had been plucked from corpses and hatchets were used to carve claw marks. He had seen such tactics in Aedirn.

Valens stood, his brief minute of examination spent. "Scoia'tael." He stated grimly.

Antarus looked taken aback at this, he made to speak in surprise, before he closed his mouth and shook his head. "I will not ask if you are sure, such a question seems trivial." He admitted, eyes darting round the site warily.

Valens noticed his duress and chuckled amusedly, "Don't fret, they are not here."

Antarus nodded slowly, "I sure hope so…"

The Witcher shrugged in response. "The wind blows east does it not?"

"It does."

"And to our east is a river, so they cannot lay concealed there correct?"

"Correct."

Valens grinned, "So that leaves the west, meaning should they be hiding in those trees; it would leave them downwind of me." He concluded with a sense of finality.

Antarus seemed puzzled for a moment, before his brow lightened in understanding. "Ah! I understand the correlation; we hunt regularly in Kovir." He alluded with nod, seemingly satisfied with his knowledge.

Valens raised a brow, "Then you will understand when I ask you to stay back thirty paces. Elves are nasty trappers, especially when they are wary of being tracked."

Antarus bowed from atop his horse, "Of course, Master Witcher." He paused for a second before humming in thought. "What course of action do you recommend if I find myself separated, and or in a confrontation?" He asked eagerly.

Valens glanced at the man approvingly before jerking a thumb back to the road they had just left. "Flee back to the road immediately, weave through the trees and upon reaching the road continue down alongside the bank of the river in the defilade so arrows cannot find purchase on your mount or person. If you believe they are even remotely interested in you, ride all the way back to Oxenfurt; I will complete this task and find my way back to you." He stated curtly, leaving no room for argument.

Antarus nodded. "Understood."

Valens raised a brow at this, "You are not like any noble I've met. Most would bristle at such a command." He admitted carefully. Tutting reproachfully as Tug buried his head into a bush full of berries with unrepressed glee.

The Koviri frowned at this, "Why? You are quite obviously master of your craft, heeding your advice is a given. Should you lecture me in matters of court however… well, that another subject entirely." He finished with a discerning smile.

Valens laughed at this, "If only the world was as logical!" He exclaimed appreciatively.

They rode for an hour before coming across what looked to be a large tree situated atop a relatively green knoll. There was a dirt road leading to some dowry looking village naught thirty feet from it. Valens turned his nose up in the air and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes in concentration as a rush of information hit his brain.

"Villagers are burning fields in the village, likely to fertilise the soil. There are several canidae to our right, likely a wolf's den, they do not seem to impose and prove little threat. This road has been recently travelled, the stench of a horse stamped in sweat and blood is still prudent. The scent of broken grass blades in a linear direction points to recent footfall, light enough to avoid pressing dirt, yet heavy enough to break grass…" He opened his eyes, unaware of how they seemed to almost radiate light as if a firefly had made rest inside them before slowly dimming. "Elven men to our right by the tree, watching. The horse has either been slaughtered or led away, both indicate that their camp is some little ways away; this is merely an outpost situated by roadside to examine travellers." He finished resolutely.

Antarus said nothing for a long while… before he too sniffed the air deeply, immediately regretting it when pollen shot up his nose and forced a startled sneeze. He wiped his now runny nose and frowned at Valens. "I didn't get anything."

Valens snorted, "I wonder why." He then jerked his head towards the large tree. "Let's go say hi, approach from the front, I'll nab the sneaky shit from behind." He said with an impatient growl as he dismounted, unhooking a leather case of what he had assumed to be a valuable twine or rope from his horse's saddle.

The Koviri seemed a little nervous, yet saluted half-heartedly all the same. He watched Valens simply fade away into the tall grass in amazement for a few seconds before the smoke-grey horse behind snorted violently, almost as if it was impatient with his lack of action.

Glaring back at the baleful horse, Antarus pricked his stirrups against his charger's flank and plodded up to the tree, making a show of seemingly following a map he had plucked from his belt. He felt his skin prickle slightly as a shadowy figure leaned out from one of the lower branches of the tree, shortbow drawn and aimed at his chest.

"One more st-aagh!" The elf had barely opened his mouth before there was the sudden, ominous metallic clank of metal against metal, that was rapidly followed by a gleaming silver streak of of chain that wrapped around the Scoia'tael's throat like a noose, almost as if it possessed a mind of its own. In fact, the purple rivulets of magic that seemed to pulse across the chain links like veins made the thought seem to not be entirely false.

Antarus watched with a sense of strange fascination as the Dragon Witcher emerged from the ground like a wraith, seemingly appearing from the shadows as he hauled on the chain looped around his demonic looking arm. He also watched with a lesser sense of fascination as the elf-man toppled backwards down from the tree, his entire face flushed red with halted blood vessels.

Thankfully, the Witcher caught him before he collided head first with the ground. He plucked the elf from the air effortlessly, one hand around the archer's throat and the other gripping the back of his breeches before planting him chest down into the dirt.

The Black Witcher leaned down, his canines bared in a guttural growl as he forced the elf's head up with the chain around his neck, akin to how a handler brings to heel his hound. "Not a very nice way to greet a guest." He stated through gritted fangs, nodding his head to recurve bow that lay shattered by the base of the tree.

The elf naturally, as the Yrden rune infused silver chain that remained coiled around his neck like a vice tightened, didn't respond.

Antarus trotted up with a wry look on his face. "I do believe the man cannot provide answer to that question very well at present." He stated in a mock professional manner.

Valens let out a grunt that was halfway to a chuckle as he loosened the chain by a few loops.

"Ahck!" The Black Witcher frowned as the man tried to cough, however found that his muscles seemed to respond terribly slowly, if at all. He pulled off the chain entirely, lest the man swallow his tongue or something worse, coughing violently into a closed mouth as he was.

The elf tried to rise from the floor, though was forced back down by a knee as the Witcher crouched atop him, so he instead settled to glaring at the human in front of him hatefully. "Savages!" He spat acridly.

Antarus smirked at this, "And this is coming from one with a mouth full of dirt, and no small amount of humiliation." He observed eloquently.

Valens forced back his grin at this as the elf bristled beneath him, _'Oh he's good at picking wounds at least! Might have just found my favourite politician…'_

"Call off your dog, dh'oine, And I will show you humiliation!" He retorted, a cruel malevolence lingering in his eye.

Antarus' brow furrowed upon hearing this, he stared at the elf long and hard before looking up to Valens. "Can you find their camp yourself? This one seems a little difficult." He asked curiously, as if the elf's life before him was no more than a toy to be thrown aside for something newer.

Valens shrugged, he stood up and threw the spare loops of chain in his hand to the floor; showing Antarus its full magical extent as well as the wicked hook at its end. "Of course, though a guide might be more useful." The moment he finished, he stomped forwards, driving his heel into the back of the grounded elf's skull, using his head as a stepping-stone to pivot in a half-rotation and send the chain whipping into a nearby copse of young trees further down the hill somewhat. There was the meaty sound of flesh being separated forcefully, before the Witcher heaved hard on the chain.

There was a sharp snap as another Scoia'tael was yanked out from hiding, whether it was from the branches, his bones, or the chain pulling taught; none could tell for sure. Valens dragged the elf up the hill, reeling in the elven raider like one would haul in a respectable deep-sea catch. He tried to scream, whether in pain or to alert others, however was silenced regardless by the dirt and or decaying foliage that dried his tongue and stuffed his cheeks.

Valens ripped the hook free from the elf's shoulder with a careless jerk, he then grabbed the bandit's throat and raised him with his free arm to stare him in the eye. Nodding to the unconscious elf who now had half his face buried into the ground, he spoke "I'm going to rip out his ribs and dig out his heart with it." He stated, the fire in his golden eyes burning away any thought of exaggeration. "Unless you take me to the boss, you stole something from my client; we want it back."

Apparently, he had chosen a much more malleable guide, for this one did not seem to be made of the same material as his unconscious friend. "Alright, Alright! I'll-"

Valens cut him off with a sharp slap, which sent the elf sprawling with his ears ringing and cheek flushed a painful red. "Good." He then turned to his charge and shrugged. "I believe ambling into the lion's den with be a prudent way to get oneself offed. Are you fine with waiting here, and telling me what you need recovered?" He asked, his voice neutral. It was important to keep any personal feelings out of what was obviously a tense political matter; if the presence of such a high ranking councilman was any indication.

Antarus barely blinked. "To the first question; of course, I shall await your return. To the second, no; however I do believe they will very much so understand your meaning when enquiry towards the item is attempted." He then paused for a second, glanced at the brutalised elf in the dirt and shrugged. "Or should diplomacy not be your intent at all, you will definitely recognise the item through its physical appearances. It is encased within a sprigganwood box; stamped with the seal of the Koviri court." He replied matter-of-factly.

Valens nodded, that was more than enough. He then raised a brow at the mention of sprigganwood. "That's some damned expensive stuff…" He said with a whistle. The sole reason regarding the rarity of Spriggans were completely due to the fact that once enchanted, their bark; or even rarer their heartwood became almost indestructible. Every enchantment placed on sprigganwood enhanced said enchantment to a ridiculous level, even a basic locking rune would render it inaccessible for eternity without the proper key. It was merely step-down from Leshen's wood, which in turn was inferior to dragon's bone.…

Upon noticing the nobleman's shrug, Valens figured that it was at this subject open relations ended. Taking this into stride, he nodded at the Koviri councilman and wrapped the chain back onto his left arm; all the while glaring at the cowed elf still grovelling on the floor from the blow, unsure as to whether he should rise or stay down.

"Get up, we move now." He commanded. His voice stark and hardened.

The Scoia'tael bandit jumped up immediately, for fear of displeasing his current captor and giving rise to his seemingly flash flood like anger. "Y-yes, sir."

Valens growled threateningly as the man skittered forwards, _'I should feel bad that I enjoy this so much… oh well.'_ He turned back to Antarus and gave him a lazy one-finger salute. "Shouldn't take too long."

Antarus waved regally, as if in jest before bowing. "Of course, Master Witcher."

* * *

 **AN: Sorry for the wait, was in Fiji. Doing Fijian stuff.**


	14. Gaining Ground

_"The defloration of a soul is a common concept, one that needs no explanation. So why does every man ask, 'why?'  
T'is simple. It is simply human nature."_

 _\- Francesca Findabair, the Sorceress Elf-Queen of Dol Blathanna._

* * *

Valens stepped through the encampment with lazy strides, idly swinging his Dane axe in front of him experimentally. The Scoia'tael scout in front him seemed none too pleased to hear the sounds of an impossibly keen-edged, two-handed axe _'whooshing'_ around behind his neck; however, even though his brethren surrounded the man behind him, trying his luck was the furthest thing on his mind.

The Witcher, however, was having a blast. He could almost taste the tension in the air, he had strolled right into a wolves den; which would have been a terrible prospect… had it not been a dragon amongst pups. His mind whirring with strategy, there were quite a few archers, yet all of them were far too close to do any immediate damage. In this condensed space, they would simply end up shooting each other with his fleet of foot.

He made his way to the middle of the encampment, where a large campfire sat smouldering merrily before a curt whistle had the elf in front of him skid to a halt. Valens pushed him aside with a low rumbling growl of warning before making his way towards the she-elf who had just pushed back her tent flaps and stepped confidently into view, glaring him down with wary eyes. The reaction was almost immediate, he heard the sound of arrows scraping against wood as the elves around him drew and readied to loose at his back. It was a challenge.

Valens' footfall remained constant, arrogant, and apathetic. It was only when he found himself standing five feet from the she-elf did he finally halt his advance. Though he did not show it, he was impressed that the elf had yet to falter. Her predatory gaze remained stoic as she stepped out from the tent entrance, closing the distance by another foot. He was close enough to take in every scent, every lick of emotion that she was closely guarding. Valens cocked his head to the side in the slightest of inclinations, curious as to whether she would take initiative. She did not disappoint.

"D'yaebl den Esser? Why have you come, no monsters trouble us?" Her tone was inquisitive, yet her guard was not lowered. She had seen the way he had led one of her own by blade's edge, the Devil Witcher likely had less than good intentions.

Valens in response let his axe sink into the ground beside him as he made a show of identifying his surroundings, he spun slowly on the spot; taking in every little detail before spreading his arms in a mock-hurt gesture. "You would grant me with such hostility? Surely you do not believe anything to come of the toothpicks aimed at me by your cute little elflings?" He asked, his tone as sweet venom. "Especially not by the blonde with the fondness for Verbena essence, hiding in the fucking trees where the sun glints off of the stolen jewellery half embedded between her tits." He turned his head to glare at the densely leafed tree to his left, and was rewarded with a startled shuffle of branches as a young elf dropped from the canopy; arrow nocked and an angry flush gracing her cheeks. Valens let out a snort of steam, "You insult me with your incompetence." He looked away from her in disdain as the pink flush turned scarlet, and the limbs of her bow creaked as she drew back a few more inches.

"That's enough, Vatt'ghern." The elf mere feet from him demanded before her respectable glare lost a little of its lustre as the roaring golden-eyes swivelled back to leer at her. Leering not at her body, in fact, she would have felt leagues more comfortable with _that,_ his gaze was instead gorging on her very intent. "What do you want from us?" She implored again, eager for something definitive to occur; the Wiedźmin's lack of stated purpose proved more unnerving than his presence itself.

Valens stared into her green eyes for a moment longer, before smirking wolfishly. "A friend of mine has come to me recently, woe to find that something of his had been stolen from him by attacks on a caravan. 'Likely from a terrible, ugly beast', he had said." The Dragon Witcher's smirk turned ruinous. "How peculiar, that I tracked this... 'beast' and found nothing more than a bunch of forest insects hiding away in the trees." He mused mockingly.

The she-elf's jaw tightened at the Witcher's blatant disregard for the situation he was in. He was attempting to rile her up, and it was working. "Mind your manners, mutant!" she hissed lowly, stepping forward with a hand on her dagger.

Valens' brow perked up as he leaned forwards slightly, close enough to smell the honeysuckle on her breath. "Oh? You seem to be a little flustered, shall we sit down for a drink. Perhaps I can alleviate your stress?" The she-elf watched as the man raised a hand clad in the clawed gauntlet that gave him his name, and began to idly conjure a flame that danced on his murderous fingertips. "These fingers can do so much more than scorch flesh from bone, after all." He whispered softly, leaning back slowly.

The she-elf's glare turned harrowing, before with a supreme effort; she calmed herself. She could call for her men to shoot the arrogant Witcher, yet she had made a mistake in allowing him to get so close. If such a call was made, she had no doubts towards her fate. She made to speak, before the Witcher suddenly clenched his fist, producing a hollow grinding sound that demanded her attention.

"I've had my fun," He interrupted. The playful danger in his eyes had vanished. Instead, there was only a malevolent spike of gravity that swam in his golden orbs. "I require an item you have stolen. A box made from Spriggan-wood, and stamped with the Koviri seal, give it to me and I will be on my way." He offered calmly.

The elf smirked, feeling control return to her for the first time throughout the entire confrontation. "And what, pray tell do you offer in return?" She piqued, an innocent smile playing on her lips.

And just like a leaf drifting in a breeze, before being ripped away in the gales of a storm. The feeling of control she had gained slipped away almost immediately. "I won't butcher all of you and bring your heads back to Oxenfurt for reward."

"I won't butcher all of you and bring your heads back to Oxenfurt for reward."

The man wasn't lying. There was no doubt in his voice, no hesitation; the confidence he exuded set them all on edge from the start and now she knew why. Yet still, she could not take the chance. Laughing in disbelief, she made a grand gesture; "You believe you can take twelve arrows to the back and survive, Witcher?"

Valens cocked his head to the side and smiled charmingly, "Depends on where they hit I guess, besides; I know for a fact that **you** cannot." He then shrugged, "I have reached the end of my pati-" There was a low slam of twine smacking wood, before a meaty thud of impact rang out through the clearing.

Valens turned slowly, before looking down at his thigh and seeing the fat crossbow bolt embedded in the skin of his quadriceps. There was a beat of silence, as flame began to spiral from his demonic fingertips; before the simultaneous cries of men charging into battle instigated mayhem.

Men clad in brown leather and studded leather armour, bearing the symbol of Redania charged into the clearing; two on horseback while most ran in with an assortment of reasonably high-quality weapons. Witch Hunters, Valens surmised. He watched as the initial charge decimated almost half of the Scoia'tael in the first few seconds, as every elf had been locked towards him, bows drawn.

Valens growled in fury, before catching himself. Letting out a slow, calming breath, he snatched his axe from where it had been embedded and snapped towards the she-elf, wrapping his clawed fingers around her throat before lifting her from the ground with monstrous strength and pulling her close to his face with a snarl. "The box, where is it?" He grunted.

Despite the heated metal searing her throat, the Scoia'tael squirmed as she watched her men die over the Witcher's shoulder. Turning a helpless gaze to the Devil Witcher, her look in her eyes turned pleading. "P-please! I'll gi-ah! I'll give it to you, just help us!" she begged, before screaming in horror as the blonde elf from the treetops was thrown roughly to the ground, short bow smashed to splinters as the hulking Witch Hunter above her began to unbuckle his breeches with a predatory chuckle.

Valens growled lowly at her, subconsciously grinding his forehead against hers roughly in both anger and contemplation... before hurling her to the ground; how he wanted to tear out her fucking throat, the conniving harlot.

Pivoting on his heels, the Dragon Witcher let out a condensed blast of Aard into the side of the big man above the blonde elf; watching in brutal satisfaction as the Witch Hunter was sent hurtling into a nearby tree with a strangled cry before his head bashed gruesomely against a knot in the wood. Stalking over to where three Scoia'tael stood facing down four Witch Hunters, one of which was on horseback; Valens shoved them all to the side before letting out a concussive blast of fire that engulfed the four leather-clad murderers.

He stepped forwards as the horse reared up on its hind legs, whinnying out in alarm as fire coated its front, and with a single cleave severed its head from its shoulders before blasting the decapitated head at the three still shouting out as they attempted to put out the flames, bowling them over onto the floor. Stepping back as the deceased horse toppled over, Valens found the Hunter with his legs still trapped beneath the saddle. Raising his axe, he silenced the man's pathetic wails of 'mercy!' before stepping over the corpse and hacking at the two still writhing around on the floor. The third was already dead, the feathered shaft of an arrow piercing out of his eye socket.

' _Thunk!'_

Valens' ears perked up, seconds before a bolt pierced through the ringmail on his torso and slipped cleanly into the muscle below his ribs. Letting out a hiss of pain, the Dragon Witcher spun towards the culprit, and akin to a laser he locked his gaze onto the second mounted Hunter; the crossbow that had been used to shoot him tossed aside as the man drew a giant serrated greatsword. His anger dulled minutely at the sight of the huge weapon, it was a Flamberge. The Northern Kingdom of Cintra awarded the legendary pieces of craftsmanship to their Knights of noble blood, how this oaf had managed to get his hands on one, Valens hadn't a clue. All he knew was that it wasn't going to belong to such a dullard for very long.

The Witch Hunter let out a savage roar before ruthlessly kicking and slapping his mount, urging the rouncey into a gallop that was lacking in rhythm. The Hunter had leaned over the right-hand side of his saddle far enough to lift his arse from where it was sat, telegraphing his intentions from thirty feet away. It was almost child's play.

It was clear from how the man handled his horse that he was not skilled in riding. Valens' assumptions proved correct as he leapt forwards and to the left, into the line of the greatsword before digging in his heels and pivoting to the right, hard. The juking manoeuvre caught the inexperienced rider off guard, who hurriedly began to saw his reins to the right as he struggled to right himself. The end result was catastrophic.

His failed dispersion of weight, his mount's unsteady gait from a forced acceleration, combined with its riders incessant jerking of the reins in a spontaneous direction collapsed the bay like a dilapidated wall of bricks. It tumbled head over rear for several rotations before crashing through a Scoia'tael tent and sliding to a stop. Valens righted himself from his crouched position and watched as the steed scrambled to its feet and skipped away in fright, seemingly unhurt. Its rider, however, judging by the grotesque sound of air wheezing through a twisted windpipe that made its way to Valens' keen ears, was nought as lucky.

Valens turned and surveyed the scene with a burning glare; the skirmish was all but over. Despite the initial ambush, the Scoia'tael had managed to defend themselves against lesser of Hunters, with their spears and leather tunics. Seeing the single, near raging individual slaughter two of their captains and four of their superiors; the three remaining men had surrendered. He shook his head at their idiocy, taking on twelve squirrels with nine men had been a bold move; despite being better equipped and having mounted riders. He then shrugged, feeling the frenzy of battle ease out of his veins. They would have likely won, had he not intervened. As it stood, the elves had six out of the twelve present; not including their apparent leader. Speaking of...

Valens swiftly stepped through the encampment, bowling over a Scoia'tael who had been leaning on his knees in recuperation as he crested over the she-elf who was currently comforting the blonde, who had been seconds from a specifically ghastly sexual assault if her ripped clothes and bloody face could attest to anything. He ignored the blonde, however, and instead grabbed his prey by the back of her neck, not unlike a wolf would with a rabbit. He dragged her, kicking and writhing over to her own tent before hurling her through the flaps as if she weighed nothing. Not one of her men moved to stop him.

" **No more games.** " He growled lowly as he stepped through the entrance, baring his fangs as the wicked edge of his axe popped a single layer of skin open as he levelled it against her throat.

The she-elf, from her slumped position on her side, gazed up at him with fearful, wet eyes. Leaning back slightly, so as to not cut her own throat open when she spoke, she gestured behind her to the horde of supplies nestled in the back of the tent. "T-there! We could not open it, it's perfectly fine! Pl-please don't!" She stammered, feeling her resolve crack as tears began to spill from her eyes anew.

Valens glared at her for a few second longer, ingraining into her that he was very much ready to start hacking away again should she try anything, before he slung his axe onto his back and stepped over her to the pile of... well, junk.

To him, most of it was garbage. Tables, chairs, fancy chalices and some sacks of grain. What he sought after, was the small, hand sized, deep green wooden box that sat atop an upturned table. The runes around the edges of the Koviri court seal stamped into the lid glowing ever so faintly. Taking it with his clawed fingertips, the Witcher ripped some fabric from the tent and wrapped it up hurriedly, before stuffing the parcel under his arm.

He stopped as he levelled alongside the now weeping elf on his way out. Turning a stony gaze to her, he caught her eyes, the charcoal around them smudged and made runny with tears. "I should kill you all. There are starving women and children in the city that cannot afford to pay the increased prices for food because of you savages." He paused for a moment, watching as the realisation of what consequences her actions had wrought kicked in. He crouched down and reached out slowly, grabbing her chin with surprisingly tender fingers before gently rotating her head in order to force her gaze upon him. "Did you think you were inconveniencing the soldiers? The lords with their cellars full of wine and food? The King who would simply steal what he needed from his people?" He inquired gently. His gaze then suddenly turned Arctic as his clawed fingers tightened around her jaw; digging into the delicate facial muscles painfully. "You're killing infants, driving children from their family homes because their fathers cannot feed them; forcing young girls to be sold off to pleasure fat, old men so that their parents can put the meat of rats into the mouths of their other children! You idiotic scum." He threw her by his grip back down to the dirt. " _Leave._ Never return, or I will scorch the skin from your body and feed what remains of you to those who starve." He spat before stalking out of the tent. His forefinger twitched forwards as the entrance to the large tent was suddenly ripped open with a weak Aard, he managed barely five paces before his ears pricked to attention.

 _"I'm so sorry..."_

Valens stopped. His fingers automatically jerked for his silver knife before with a supreme effort, he quelled his fury. Shaking his head slowly, he snorted in contempt before stalking out amidst the wounded Scoia'tael. "I'm not the one grovelling on the streets."

He meant it to be his final parting word before he made his exit, however, a pained groan made his ears twitch in recognition. Despite the widely varying context, he recognised the tone.

Almost robotically, his direction slowly homed into the last surviving Witch Hunter. He passed through the surviving Scoia'tael, who were all watching him with subdued silence, before stepping through the wreckage of the small yurt like tent the inexperienced rider had crashed through. And there, amongst the debris lay a broken man. The Hunter's chest seemed to be sunken, likely cracked inwards from the descent, while his leg was twisted at an odd angle at the knee. The wheezing he had been hearing before was more prominent now; it was a harrowing experience... well, for a normal man at least. Valens could, and if memory serves correct, _had_ watched the gruesome display over dinner.

A quick scan revealed the item he was looking for, embedded into the dirt a good ten paces away lay the flame-bladed greatsword of Cintra. Pulling it out of the ground, the Witcher's brows rose slightly at the weight of the weapon he was holding. It was wickedly light for its sheer size and length, why the fool had been rearing back so far to strike him, Valens had no idea.

Marvelling over the craftsmanship of the art piece he held in his hands, he idly made his way back to the Redanian fascist. He rolled the man over with his foot roughly, forcing out an agonised shriek from the man as his cracked ribs jostled in his chest, before ripping the scabbard from his back. Sheathing the beautiful sword, Valens rolled the man over again and crouched down.

"Where did you find this?" He asked curiously, tone deceptively pleasant.

The man merely stared up at him, tears of pain running down his eyes as spit accumulated in his mouth. His attempt at defiance barely made it out of his mouth before dribbling back down his chin, mingling with the blood. "F-fuck-" He never finished, as with a sigh Valens stood and raised his booted foot, before sending it back down in a brutal curb-stomp. The Draconian mutagen enhanced muscle fibres sending his heel through the man's skull to dig a groove into the dirt below. He sighed as he shook his foot free of the gore.

"Why do I even bother?"

* * *

"Oh my, that does look to be an arrow embedded in your leg does it not, sir?"

Valens glanced down at Antarus' observation and grimaced slightly. He had forgotten about that. One hand reached down to gouge at the bolt in his thigh, while the other extended a small parcel wrapped in hide.

Antarus, still seated atop his horse, reached down with hands clad in expensive riding gloves and gingerly accepted the package. Unfurling the tanned leather wrapped roughshod over the object within, Antarus tossed the material to the side before digging into his neckline and pulling out a small monocle hung on a leather necklace. Raising it to his eye, he scanned nearly every inch of the box with meticulous precision all while Valens finished yanking the splinters from his thigh and began to swap out his axe for his new toy. After securing his axe to Tug's saddle, Valens took a few paces away, urging Tug to step back when the inquisitive horse made to follow, and began to swing the Auburn tinged blade slowly.

Antarus looked up at this and raised a bushy brow, "Now that, is a weapon fit for a Knight." He commented in appreciation.

Valens glanced up and grinned at him cheerfully, the Flamberge handled beautifully. "I must train with it, it will not do to hack and slash at people like I would with my great axe." He answered, still glancing up at the blade.

Antarus grunted in assent, "I have seen a few blades like that in the Royal treasury, which should mean something, considering they aren't being held in the Royal _armoury_." He supplied with a smile. "What name does it take?"

Valens frowned at this, a quick scan of the weapon found no markings; which was highly unusual for such brilliantly forged steel. Its make was of greater quality than his own favoured weapon, he was sad to admit. Valens shook his head, before strapping the scabbard to his back and testing the fit. It would be too long to draw from his back, and too cumbersome to wear at his hip. The maker was apparently aware of this, however, as the gilded leather sheath itself could be detached from the harness; meaning he was to pull the sheathed sword from his back, draw, and throw the sheath aside. Not the nimblest of choices in weaponry for his profession, yet he could only hope it wouldn't trouble him too dearly. "It doesn't have one." He answered.

Antarus hummed in thought, before stowing the small box away and in turn producing a hefty sack of coin. "You should give it a name, Master Witcher. It deserves one." He advised gently as Valens cautiously accepted the coin.

Testing the weight, Valens raised a brow at his employer. "This is a hefty sum, Lord Antarus; however I am afraid I must decline. I require passage through Oxenfurt more than I do coin." He admitted, holding out the sack.

Antarus shook his head, "That shall also be addressed as your pay, Mister Valens."

Pursing his lips slightly, the Witcher shrugged and placed the five-hundred odd sack of gold into one of the saddlebags. "Generous of you." He commented, before sheathing the sword and mounting up. Staring at the sheathed Flamberge in his hands, Valens grunted as the moonlight flashed off of the red-hued steel lacing the jewelled pommel. "Dreyrug'r." He announced, smirking at the name.

Antarus squinted in thought, "The Blood-stained?" He then sat back with a wide smile, nodding slightly. "I had always thought Skellige's tongue to be ugly in nature." He glanced at the blade once more as Valens clipped it onto his back. "I have been dismayed in my judgement it seems.

Valens merely grinned, before looking up to the moon resting high in the sky. "It's getting late, we should move."

* * *

With Niellan...

Settled in the clearing found Niellan, currently securing the horse the Baron had given to him to a nearby tree when his head twitched as the woman's breathing pattern shifted. She was awake.

Standing up from his crouch beside the campfire, he dusted off his front and stepped over to where the woman lay huddled on his bedroll, furs wrapped around her snugly while the crackling flames warmed her face. She had lost some blood, not enough to be fatal, simply enough to become problematic; the wound, while deep had cut through what little fatty flesh she possessed and abstained from rupturing arteries.

Her eyes cracked open, and Niellan watched as the pale blue peeked out from half lidded orbs. She stirred for a moment before she awoke fully and took in her surroundings with an unfamiliar confusion. Upon seeing him crouching beside her, memory seemed to flood back into her as she recoiled away from him in fear and alarm.

Niellan raised his hands in a placating gesture, "You're going to reopen your wounds miss! Calm yourself!" He hissed.

The Huntress opened her mouth, yet stumbled on the words before tossing aside the furs to find her torso bare; however, it wasn't that which caught her attention. It was the singed, streak stinging red flesh that was burned close in a gash that stretched from her left breast down to just below her stomach. "W-what..." She muttered before trying to rise, only to collapse back down with a fierce hiss of pain as a section of the cauterised wound stretched tormentingly. She struggled with the instinctive decision between covering her wound, or her modesty. The pain won in the end as the stinging ache peaked and her hand shot to her side.

Niellan threw caution to the wind and pushed her back down, holding her in place with ease as he pulled the furs back over her. "Miss I did what I had to do, it was either that or let you bleed to death." He informed, glaring at her as she still struggled against his hand.

Seemingly coming to the realisation that struggling against him was a ridiculous notion, she settled before mustering the most hateful scowl she could. "Why would you care? Monster!" She spat, though her voice was more of a whisper at this point.

Niellan frowned at this, before pulling back and standing. "I saved your life lady." He pointed out, his tone guarded.

The Skellige woman seemed to falter at this, her scowl slipped, and a look of distrust replaced it. "W-why would _you_ do such a thing?" The emphasis on the word 'you' not lost on the Werewolf.

Niellan pursed his lips and made a face of confusion, "Because you would have probably died otherwise, I believe?" He then shrugged, "You also saved my life, after I saved yours in the first place. So technically, you just repaid the favour by saving my life, but then I just saved you again so there's that." He rattled off, absentmindedly stroking his stubble in thought.

The Skellige woman merely stared at him with owlish, baffled eyes before a wave of nausea struck her like a Clan Brokvar Warhammer.

Niellan was snapped out of his childish musings by a dull thud, he snapped his head back to his 'patient' to see her slumped to the side, unconscious once again. Letting out a hefty sigh, the Hunter let out a curt whistle. He turned as Atlas bounded from the brush behind him after a few moments. "Oi keep watch you. Wake me up when that dies." He ordered, pointing to the crackling fire. It had roughly two and half hours left of burn time in the logs, more than enough sleep to recuperate from the day's activities along with the full shift; just another perk of being a cursed Lycanthrope. Atlas bumped his hard head against Niellan's leg in acknowledgement, thumping his tail on the floor happily as his master ruffled his ears before taking off, back into the darkness.

Niellan meanwhile spent a minute looking for his bedroll, before his eye began to twitch in realisation, resisting the urge to slap himself; the Hunter pulled out a fur cloak and set it by the fire before effectively 'bedding' down for the night. His eyes glanced over to the woman, and found her form still; for a second, he had thought her lifeless, before her substantially graced chest rose once more in a shaky breath.

She had impressed him, between Valens and himself, wounds and injuries barely needed tending to with both of their natural regeneration; his being far superior in case. He had grown familiar with judging the severity of combat-wounds and would be surprised if she survived the night. His brows knotted at the thought, she was going to stink up his bedroll.

* * *

With Valens…

The Black Witcher raised a brow at the small rolled up parchment he was given, it was a signed and stamped statement of diplomatic entry permissions. Barring direct orders from the Redanian seat, or perhaps locations forbidden to even politicians; the little note would get him practically all across the city, including the noble's district.

He looked up to the smiling Koviri and dipped his head in thanks, "There is something else you require of me, isn't there?" He wanted to kick himself, while the man was likeable and intelligent; he was still a diplomat of high calibre. There wasn't a simpleton's chance in a library that his substantial rewards came from the one task.

Antarus' smile grew a little wider as he nodded, yet it still remained pleasant. "Yes, sir; I had figured you would be suspicious." He made a vague gesture towards the sealed box he had just chained to the hand of one of his Koviri guards. "I require your loyalty." At Valens' frown, the man raised his hands in a placating gesture. "You misunderstand, while I would leap at the chance towards securing your services…" He paused before pursing his lips, "-Would you, by chance be open to recruitment?" He asked hopefully.

Valens shook his head, "Court Witchers get fat, arrogant and lazy. No thank you, Lord Antarus." He replied smoothly.

There was a flash of disappointment before the nobleman soldiered on, "Unfortunate… Nevertheless, I understand how mercenaries work. I would merely like to leave you with a good impression, so should an enemy of Kovir and Poviss seek your information and or skill-set to use against us, they will instead be met with refusal from an honourable man." He explained stoically, his tone wholeheartedly expecting Valens to agree.

The Dragon Witcher couldn't contain his smirk; he could definitely believe that Antarus was a master of his craft. He had attempted to befriend, bribe, deceive, guilt, and provide open truths all at once in the past thirty seconds alone. A flicker of recognition passed through Antarus' eye before he opened his mouth to respond, the Koviri knew that his veil had been seen through. "Should they come, they will be." He replied. Not in a boisterous, reassuring tone; merely one of stoic resolve, anything else would give the Koviri the wrong impression.

Antarus, after a moment, smiled at him; a genuine one this time that crinkled his eyes, which were filled with unabashed amusement. "I thank you, Valens. Should you require aid, know that Kovir favours you for your efforts." He stated before extending his hand.

Valens' eyes widened slightly at the near literal olive branch offered to him as he shook Antarus' outstretched hand. An offered alliance…

He recovered admirably, however, and grinned back easily. "While I cannot speak for a nation as you can, know that my services are always open to the court of Kovir and Poviss." He paused before shrugging lightly, "I may even take you up on that offer in the distant future. Farewell." He bid before stepping back, and at Antarus' nod he turned and left.

He mounted and rode for the middle-class, water-front residential district by the western side of Oxenfurt, according to Geralt, the fisherman who had sent Tamara here had a brother who lived in a brown house with decorated windows and a small library in the area. The city was rather straightforward in design, which only helped his nose locate the long vacated fish markets that would inevitably still be ripe with the scent of fish from the early day peddling. Thankfully, due to how high the moon already rested in the sky, the streets were mostly empty save for a few guards, who waved him on after seeing the letter, and the odd shady looking individual, who quickly lost any notion of skulduggery upon noting the lean mount and giant greatsword.

Ducking down as he passed under a small stone archway to the waterside streets, Valens urged Tug into a trot with a nudge of his toe and quickly scanned the houses on his left as he rode, terribly keen eyes piercing through the windows in search of a library, which in a middle-class district was quite unique, while observing the windows themselves. Eventually, he gently slowed to a halt upon spotting a well-kept home, its wood stained dark and the windows blemished with beautiful colours. Dismounting, he tossed the reins back over Tug's neck, stepped up to the door, and knocked with a matt black, steel encased finger.

There was a muffled sound of surprise before a shuffling as whoever was on the other side made their way to the door. After the click of a lock being undone, the door swung inwards to admit a plain looking middle-aged man in brown breeches and a simple blue cotton jerkin, a smouldering pipe hanging from his mouth, which he just now removed. Valens raised a brow at the sight of the iron poker the man was attempting to hide behind his leg, regardless; he extended a hand in greeting. "Forgive the late disturbance, I am here looking for Tamara Strenger." He announced amiably.

The man placed the pipe back in his mouth to shake his hand uncertainly; his eyes took in the elegant features, the glowing slitted eyes, the lightweight yet battle-ready armour and the handle of a rather large greatsword peeking out from the stranger's right shoulder. A Witcher, a left-handed one it seems. "Voytek sent you then?" He asked with a frown, his voice was very slightly skewed with an imperious lilt as if he deemed himself an intelligent man above others.

Valens merely flashed him a dazzling smile, baring gleaming ivory fangs in the process. "How else would I know she was here?" He asked in a tone bordering admonishment.

The man tightened his lips slightly at the rebuke and stepped back, permitting Valens inside. "Wait a moment then, I'll fetch her." At Valens' nod, the man replaced the iron poker back by the fire and made his way up the stairs.

He heard the sound of knuckles rapping on a door before the slightest of shifts beside him caught his attention. Looking down, he spied a black and white cat staring up at him with inquisitive, ice-blue eyes. Its eyes narrowed into slits upon seeing his slitted eyes, and its look changed from mildly curious to fully interested. The little feline padded up to the table closer to him, and Valens, in turn, shifted to face it. Crouching down to eye level with the cat, he raised a brow… along with the other one when the creature mirrored his facial expression. He reeled back slightly, "What the fuck?" He muttered in suspicion.

"You're looking for me? And who might you be? My father sends you?"

Valens blinked in surprise at the feminine voice, he had been too busy surprised by the brow-raising cat. Standing up from his crouch with a spry athleticism, Valens turned to greet the Baron's daughter; and cocked his head to the side upon seeing her.

She was young a lady, perhaps in her late teens or early twenties, and looked absolutely nothing like her father. The Baron's wife must have been quite the bombshell in her youth, for the girl before him was an attractive, short-haired brunette to say the least. Though her figure was slight, and her facial structure was a little angular as were the standards of northern women, Tamara Strenger's appearance was not one he had expected.

He was a swashbuckling slayer of men and monsters alike for a reason, however, Valens reminded himself firmly as he flashed her with a cordial, aristocratic smile. "Good evening to you as well, my lady." He replied wryly. The only answer he received in response was the barest dusting of pink on her pale cheeks before she exhaled from her nose in an unimpressed scoff. His smile turned into a grin, "In answer to your question, yes. In answer to your second question, I am Valens of the Sky-reaching Peaks, and in answer to your third, yes." He replied smoothly, leaning against the table as he crossed his arms in front of his chest in a nonchalant manner.

Tamara's dusting of pink grew a shade darker as she frowned at him, "I don't wish to play games of tongues with you, Valens of the Sky-reaching Peaks." She sneered back at him.

However, Valens merely shrugged infuriatingly; "A pity, I was curious to see how _skilled_ your tongue was." He mused absently, loud enough for her to hear. He then turned his golden gaze of molten fire back onto her with an intensity that made her knees buckle. "I was sent here by your father to check on you, see whether you were still alive and well." He made a show of dissecting her entire figure with his beaming eyes before curling a lip up in indifference. "I see that you are alive, are you well?" He finished with a note of obviously forced intrigue.

The shift in tone seemed to throw Tamara from her high perch just as he had intended if her sudden stammering and nervous fidgeting had anything to say about it. She managed to compose herself, however, which was made all the more embarrassing as the man's piercing eyes never left her. "I- Yes, I am alive and better than I ever have been in this terrible life of mine, and now that you have seen me, I bid you farewell." She rattled out heatedly, she made to turn and leave before a hand gently, yet firmly held her still by her shoulder. She recoiled in shock to see the golden-eyed warrior stood barely two feet from her, _'I only blinked!'_

"We have more to discuss."

Tamara felt her ire drown in response to the subtle shift of pitch in Valens' voice, his voice, as much as she hated to admit it, was pleasant to listen to and alluring in its efforts to grab her attention. It hadn't changed much, yet the growl of danger that laced the words was primal; it no longer _grabbed at_ her attention, more so that it dominated and mauled it into shreds. The hand left her shoulder, as the man stepped back, and she found herself breathing a sigh of relief. Trust her father to find such a terrifying man to 'check up on her'.

However she was surprised yet again, for the fire in the Witcher's eyes seemed to simmer into something warmer as he stepped towards the window, observing the water gliding through the river that was the Pontar Delta. "I understand your malcontent with my presence," He began. Tamara suppressed the urge to scoff at him as if her father's lackey could ever under- "-your father's a vile man, you're enraged and estranged, I cannot, without lying condemn you for that." He said, his reverting voice back to the calming crescendo it had been before, yet empathic.

Just like that, Tamara's illusions about the man before her were shattered. Frustration pooled in her chest as she stomped forwards, "You knew? Why do you help him then?" She hissed loudly. "Why would take this job?"

"He has information I dearly need, about some close to me; swore to embolden me with this information if I helped him find you and your mother." Was his levelled response.

Tamara felt her frustration slip slightly at this, and she sighed sadly. This, she could understand. "Ah, blackmail then- just his style." She muttered spitefully.

Valens looked back to her and shrugged, "Not exactly, more of a trade of sorts. I could have simply tortured it from him, yet I prefer to stick to the Witcher code." He offered congenially.

Tamara smirked at him, yet it didn't reach her eyes. "You should have done so, he doesn't deserve your services." She had to admit, the man was skilled. They had given every hunter in Crow's Perch the slip, yet he had simply waltzed and found her like she had been hiding in the shitters a stone's throw away.

Valens smiled faintly at her, "That's very kind of you." He intoned, smiling again as her cheeks flushed with heat. "You certainly do loathe that man, don't you?" He mumbled quietly.

The question was rhetorical, yet she felt the need to answer anyway. "You haven't the faintest idea, Valens. Like you said, that man is vile." She wanted to spit at this, yet it would make her look uncouth and she was indoors. "My earliest memories of my father consist of him lying under the stairs with the bottle, caked in mud. The next dozen years, completely identical. Father would drink, come home in a rage and sent furniture flying!" Her tone grew hot again before the fear of alienating the one man who cared enough to listen, forced subdued her attitude. She looked up and saw understanding eyes gazing back at her, the ocean of molten gold comforting instead of terrorising like it had been. "I thanked the gods for war. I was so glad every time he left. The quarrels between mother and him were ghastly; I could hear the thuds as he beat her from under the bed where I hid in my room. Multiply that by nineteen, and you have the life of Tamara Strenger laid out before you." She concluded with an empty laugh.

Valens stepped a little closer to her, while earlier, he had found the girl to be grating. He now realised that she had a _right_ to be, her life had been horrible. He would take being burned, beaten, and trained into the dirt and snow by his Grandmaster, up on the summit of a mountain so high that he couldn't breathe properly any day. "You're a smart girl; you know words of comfort don't mean shit." Tamara smiled weakly, yet genuinely at this. "I don't understand how you feel, I have never had parents to hate or love. But I understand _why_ you feel that way. Sometimes talking is the best medicine, so let's continue shall we?" He asked gently.

Tamara glanced up at him and frowned lightly, she didn't know when the Witcher had turned into a cleric; yet she found that she didn't quite care. He was right, venting to someone who listened felt good, even if it made little difference. She nodded meekly, accepting the hand offered to her as she was led to the table and seated. She resisted the urge to laugh and blush at the same time, she was a Baron's daughter, yes, but no one had ever pulled a chair out for her. It was kind of him. She was unsure of what else to say, yet it seemed that the Witcher was on top of that as well.

"-And when did you two finally decide it was the breaking point? Why did you run?" He probed lightly. Valens was surprised to say that he was truly interested in the girl's story, despite his intent being that of garnering information from her; for once, a sob story had managed to capture the attention of Valens the Dragon Witcher.

She seemed to latch onto the topic like a fish to shoddy lure, simultaneously eager and reluctant to speak. "It… it was after the miscarriage. He crossed the line that night. We didn't know what to do, so we fled." She said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. Valens didn't mind, she could attempt to mime the words and he would still hear them at this distance.

He nodded solemnly, "I heard about this, dealt with it too."

If she was surprised by his knowledge, she didn't state it. "-His doing! He shoved her and she fell, that's how it started. We were completely alone in the dead of night, no one was there to help… there was blood everywhere." She clenched her eyes shut at this. "Worst night of my life." She intoned in a moment of perfect clarity.

Valens sighed, and reached out with his hand. It was lucky her eyes were shut, for she didn't notice the light glow as the Dragon's Reach receded into the runes carved into his skin just before his fingers snaked into her clenched fist. He raised his brow as her grip slackened, and her eyes opened to just stare at their hands before she smiled as his thumb stroked the back of her hand with the barest feather of a touch. He had expected at least some surprise. Meanwhile, Tamara entertained thoughts of both her mother and father as the Witcher stole the unease away from her, replacing it with warmth with but his mere touch. No one had ever done that for her either.

"You two deserved better than that." He stated grimly.

Tamara blinked, squeezing out a tear that fell to the table. "Mother was in shock, raving about how she never wanted the child, must have been the blood loss." She decided bitterly, however, looked up as Valens grunted in disparity. "What is it?" She asked, frowning as he halted his ministrations on her hand.

Valens frowned, before shrugging lightly. "I realise that your father always took it too far, that he was a raging drunk who hadn't a clue towards being a father or a husband; but I doubt it was just him causing trouble." He supplied slowly.

Tamara leaned back slightly, the implications confusing. "What are you getting at?"

"Phillip has never struck you, has he?"

After a moment, she shook her head.

"He treats his soldiers well; his villagers are poor, but fed. He treats his guest well, and he gave us half the information when we completed half the task." He paused, and squeezed Tamara's hand gently, "Why would he mistreat only his wife? Unless…" He trailed off.

And Tamara picked up on it, "Unless mother was the one sta- that can't be right!"

Valens only shook his head, "His treatment of her doesn't add up, your vision of him is skewed by his stupidity and drunken rage, mine isn't. Discrepancies like this, especially to a Witcher a glaringly obvious." He explained. His mind then cracked to the marks the Baron's wife had on her hands. He squeezed her hand again to draw her attention, "Perhaps what Voytek had been saying played a part in this mess? Those marks on her hands, do you know anything about them?" He quizzed.

She was obviously still stunned by the implications, yet she perked up at this. "We were on horseback; we had just barely passed the swamp and were riding to the river. Suddenly mother doubled over screaming, almost fell off her horse. I rode up behind and saw that, saw that her hands- were on fire." She looked troubled at her own words, seemingly not believing them as she spoke. Then her features turned aghast, "- Then that monster came from the trees, roaring so loud it made my ears bleed. It was bathed in shadow so I didn't make anything out but it toppled trees like toothpicks! I've never felt fear like that before." She whispered sullenly.

Valens frowned, "Did it kill her?" He asked plainly.

Tamara looked pained at this, "No… I, I don't know. It carried her off, I wanted to go after her but the horses-" She paused, and another tear trailed down her pale cheek. "-I, panicked."

Valens tutted admonishingly, "It's good that you did, you would have been dead had you not." Internally he was frowning. Some giant creature capable of tearing the head from a horse had carried the Baron's wife into the damned swamp, allegedly. He looked up and saw Tamara staring hard at the table. "What will you do now?" He had gotten what he came for, but perhaps she needed his aid. After all this, he was willing to give it to the poor woman.

She looked up at this, a rare glint of steel in her eye. "I'm going to find mother."

Valens raised a brow, "Forgive me, but you know it's not exactly going to be easy?" He questioned, unaware whether if she was speaking from emotion or pre-planned decision.

Tamara merely scoffed at this, taking to lacing her fingers with Valens' idly as she wiped her cheeks dry. "Don't be daft, I'm not stupid. I know I won't get anywhere alone, but I have friends now; powerful friends who can help me." She looked forwards upon watching Valens' fingers close firmly around hers. Melitele was he warm to the touch…

"I hope you aren't consorting with the wrong sort, who are these friends of yours?" He inquired carefully.

Tamara merely smirked, her mood lightening for once. "No, they're the good sort, a very good sort. Heard of the Church of the Eternal Fire? They helped me contact the Witch Hunters of Redania, strong, righteous men who can aid me." She said in a buoyant tone. She did not miss Valens' scowl. "W-what is that look for?" She asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Valens shook his head, "The Eternal Fire has made habits of stretching too far in their 'cleansing of humanity through flame'. And the Witch Hunters, well, only half of them are good, righteous men. The other half is comprised of savage mercenaries."

Tamara frowned at him, "You lie-"

"Why would I lie? I'm no witch; I have nothing to fear from them." He then took in Tamara's unease, and shrugged placatingly. "Granted, you may have met the good half. _They_ are decent men and able warriors."

She nodded slightly at this, yet the fact that her conviction had been shattered twice now, once regarding her mother, and the second time regarding her faith had noticeably dampened her frame of mind.

Sighing, the Witcher clicked his tongue. "Well, I guess that you definitely are not going back to your father?" His statements were affirmed with the glare he received. He merely chuckled as he raised Tamara's delicate hands still intertwined with his hand waved her concerns off with his other. "Don't worry, your decisions are yours to make. I won't make them for you." He reassured, smiling at Tamara's doe-eyed expression. He then stood, "Very well, it seems I have some work to do." He stated before turning to leave.

Tamara's eyes widened at this, _'Wait! Is he just leaving? He can't!'_

Valens paused. She hadn't let go of his hand yet. He turned back to her, head cocked to the side curiously.

Tamara blushed up a storm as she struggled to meet his eyes, "D-do you have to leave? I mean it's so late!" she squeaked hurriedly. Stifling an amused smirk, he crouched down and gently turned her chin, urging her to look at him. He stared deep into her chocolate brown eyes, before opening his mouth to speak. Words of grave importance sat on the tip of his tongue, words of time and the wise use of it... before he shrugged. _'Fuck it.'_

His lips met hers in the barest feather of kisses, teasing, goading her to seize it for herself; and seize it she did. She leaned forwards with barely a moment's hesitation, giving herself fully into the scorching, blissful heat as her other hand reached out tentatively, cupping the breathtaking Witcher's chiselled jawline as his tongue snaked into her mouth deviously. And suddenly, it was over; leaving her chasing his lips and mewling in loss as the man withdrew. He looked up at her with those molten, slitted eyes, and in an almost beastly purr, he spoke.

" **Not unless you don't want me to.** "

Words completely and utterly abandoned her, her thoughts were filled with nothing but his alluring gaze, her breath was heavy and laboured, her fingers aching to touch and feel while the heat between her legs threatened to set her core on fire. She shook her head; and whimpered in need as she was pulled down from her chair and into his muscular arms, before being effortlessly picked up as he stood from his crouch. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctually as her lips sought out his with a desperation; her hands combed through his raven black hair, while he tore the clothes from her body after laying her on the table.

Valens shivered in a primal lust as his golden eyes narrowed, the slits growing thinner and thinner as he lost himself in the throes; his hands expertly weaved across her pale skin even as hers fumbled for his belt. Suddenly, a flicker of black invaded his vision; and the hunger to gorge himself deep within her suddenly multiplied as he pushed her back down roughly. His mouth breaking from hers as his tongue trailed down her chin; skirting down her neck and collarbones in teasing, snaking patterns before crisscrossing over the hand-sized mound of flesh, and finally circling around the rosy pink, painfully hard buds. His fanged teeth barely brushed over the diamond hard nub, and he was rewarded with a strangled gasp.

The feeling of something wet against his front made him glance down from his ministrations, distracting him from his red haze of overpowering lust. Her legs were folded up tightly, shaking ever so slightly and glistened with moisture. He looked up and found the young lady in an almost catatonic state of bliss, mindlessly breathing for the sheer reason of staying alive as she drooled in ecstasy. It made him pause.

She was troubled… hurt. She sought comfort, acceptance; something to remind her that she was still human. The mewling mess of a lust-addled woman was not how he wanted to leave her. Pulling back, he retracted his aura; he reigned in his desires and calmed himself. The primal pheromones released dwindled and died as the Dragon emerging was forcefully subdued.

Tamara's eyes rolled back into focus as the overwhelming pleasure stifled to a gentle heat as her shuddering body slowly recovered. She glanced up with utterly confused and fatigued eyes and saw Valens staring back at her comfortingly, his golden orbs now radiating security and luxury, instead of the dominating lust they had been spewing. His hands intertwined with her limp ones as he pulled her arms above her head, pinning them there ever so gently as something heavenly set a flame in between her thighs, pushing deeper and deeper until there was a sudden stab of stinging pain. Her cry was silenced, swallowed entirely as her lips were captured in a warm embrace. The pain faded almost as quickly as it came as she lost herself in his features, it was again replaced by the divine paradise pulsating through her body as her insides stretched to accommodate. It was nothing close to the mind-numbing pleasure she had been bathed in previously, yet it was steady, constant, warm. It was strangely preferable, in this moment.

She closed her eyes, and for the first time in nineteen years, she felt safe; happy. No one had done that for her either.

Neither of them noticed the pair of slitted, icy blue eyes watching them from atop the stairs; the intelligence swimming within them sparkling with both amusement and intrigue…

* * *

 **AN:** Heyo, sorry for the wait. I've been bulk writing chapters in preparation for my departure. Hopefully, I can get a friend or something to release them while I'm gone. As for the raunchy scene above, I can't seem to decide between pulling it into the category of a full blown lemon or leaving it as is. I guess time, and my confidence in writing will tell. Keep in mind; Valens' pairing is with Ciri, that ain't changing.


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